


Give Me A Try

by danfanciesphil (thejigsawtimess)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Bartenders, Gay Bar, Humor, M/M, Modeling, Obsession, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 84,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/danfanciesphil
Summary: Dan, a bartender at 'Habenero', Brighton's hottest gay club, has been obsessed with AmazingPhil, the openly gay Instagram model for a long time. In all the fantasy meet-cute scenarios Dan has imagined for he and his semi-celeb crush, none of them involved him being at work, being soaked in various liquids, or being halfway through a Saturday night hell-shift. Sometimes, life doesn't wait around for your plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt for me over on tumblr! If you want updates about the fic as I write it, access to my other work, and the chance to prompt me further, please go follow my blog! 
> 
> @danfanciesphil
> 
> The fic title is a fantastic song by my all time favourite band, The Wombats! Take a listen! 
> 
> xx

_amazingphil just posted a photo._

The second he gets the notification, Dan’s thumb is swiping his phone screen. His clothes seem too tight around his chest suddenly, and he licks his lips, feeling them dry. 

He glances around the empty bar as the picture loads, checking that no new customers have strolled in. It’s good timing on Phil’s part, really, because  _Habenero,_  the city’s hottest gay bar (pun intended), is always dead at six o’clock. It’s later that the patrons start flooding through the doors, demanding their Flirtinis and Maraschino Cherry Vodka Tonics. The gays are a reliable bunch. They like what they like, and they wouldn’t be seen dead at a bar before nine on the weekend. 

The photo loads, at last, and Dan lets out the breath that’s been unwittingly idling in his lungs until now. It’s not the most provocative of photos - which is probably a good thing, as Dan’s at work - but it’s still enough to make Dan’s grip on the lip of the bar-top tighten. 

It’s a close up this time, of Phil against a yellowish wooden wall, his head tipped backwards and a smile on his face. He’s wearing a speckled black jumper, and his signature lazy smile. With all the exposed neck on show, Dan’s mind can’t help but jump to unclean places.  

All of a sudden, an arm reaches under his, and then a finger is double tapping the image, producing a little red heart on the screen. Dan whirls around, locking his phone at once, his cheeks aflame. 

Tyler is laughing at his reaction, hands held up in front of him. “Sorry, sorry… but come on, it’s not like you weren’t gonna like that photo anyway.” 

“I’m trying not to be too stalkerish!” 

Dan reaches for the bar towel tucked into his back pocket and whips Tyler with it, making him shriek. 

“You don’t even know this guy!”

Dan glares at Tyler, stuffing the rag back into his jeans. “Yeah, but when I eventually meet him in a perfect chance encounter in the back room of a fancy party and we fall madly in love, I can’t have an incriminating online history of obsessing over him, can I?”

“Ah, I see,” Tyler says, nodding seriously. “And, um, when is this miraculous chance encounter going to happen, exactly?”

Dan shrugs. “When the stars align. I’m not in charge of fate, Ty.” 

He turns from his co-worker, busying himself by marrying up the liquor bottles - a fancy term for putting them in a specific order, so that they’ll know which is which without looking when the inevitable rush comes. Saturdays are their busiest nights, so it’s best to over-prepare.

“Where does this hottie live, anyway?” Tyler asks, pouring himself a shot of tequila. 

“Brighton,” Dan says, snatching the shot glass out of Tyler’s hand with a disapproving frown. “At least drink the cheap shit if you’re gonna steal from the bar, Ty. Not the fucking Patron.” 

“Ugh, but it tastes so good,” Tyler moans, eyes fluttering. “And hey, he lives here? Maybe this chance encounter could happen, after all.” 

“He just moved here,” Dan says. “He used to live in Manchester.”

“Wow, you are a stalker.” 

Dan throws him another glare. “Go do something useful, would you? I think one of the barrels needs changing.” 

Tyler wrinkles his nose. He points at the deep scarlet silk shirt he’s wearing, one eyebrow cocked. “Do you see this, Daniel? It’s a vintage  _Givenchy_.” 

Dan makes an ‘and?’ gesture with a shake of his head. 

“I can’t risk getting sprayed with cheap lager! I’m planning on pulling tonight.” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “Right, ‘cause a hideous eighties shirt dug out of a five pound and under pile in a vintage store is the thing that’s gonna win over your infant crush.” 

“Ouch, that hurt, Dan,” Tyler says, clutching his heart. “And I’ll have you know he’s perfectly legal!” 

Dan just shakes his head, ducking out from behind the bar to wander over to the cellar where they keep the beer barrels. 

“Put some better music on, would you?” He calls over his shoulder. “It’s fucking dead in here.” 

*

Dan gets sprayed with the cheap lager. 

It doesn’t matter as much, apparently, because his shirt is not Givenchy, nor are his jeans, which received the worst of the spray. Still, its uncomfortable, because his jeans are pretty damn tight - like it or not, wearing tight clothes gets more tips, especially in a bar like this. Still, according to Tyler, it’s better that Dan is drenched in beer than him.

As the gross stench of stale, slowly drying beer wafts into his nostrils for the tenth time that evening, Dan’s not sure he agrees. 

“Hey, what can I get you?” 

The bored guy turns to him. He wears a pretentious beanie and a beard that seems way too clean cut to be as casual as he’s obviously making it out to be.  His eyes are half lidded as he drags his gaze up and down Dan’s body. 

“Don’t suppose you sell craft beer in this place?” 

“Yeah, we’ve got Brewdog, Brooklyn Lager, Beavertown…”

The guy snorts in derision. “Figures. They’re a little too  _conventional_  for my taste. I’ll just have a gin and tonic.” 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at this dude, Dan nods. “Any preference on the gin?”

The question seems to throw the guy, who blinks, bewildered. “Uh…”

“Hendricks? Bombay? Brighton’s own?” Dan reels off. “Gordon’s?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” The guy clears his throat. “Whatever you think.”

Dan grins, then proceeds to make this idiot a double with the most expensive gin they have. “That’ll be fifteen pounds, please.”

The guy’s eyes widen in shock, but he hands over the money without argument. Dan gives him another wide smile, and watches him retreat with a great deal of satisfaction. They get a lot of customers like that, thinking they know more about the alcohol industry than anyone else. 

Tyler sidles over then, nudging Dan in the side. “Saw that. Be nice, these hipster dickheads are our source of income.” 

“I was nice!” 

Tyler just lifts an eyebrow. 

*

It’s eleven o’clock, and the place is already booming. The gays have flocked to the bar in large, obnoxious groups. Dan and Tyler are struggling to cope, even with the added help of their two new trainee bartenders - Dodie and Lara.

Finally, at around 11:15, there’s a slight lull in drinks orders, mainly due to the fact that Beyoncé’s 7/11 just came on, meaning that every person in the bar practically runs to the dancefloor. 

Dan, Tyler, Dodie, and Lara all sigh in relief, leaning against the back of the bar as they catch their breath. A few seconds pass, and then they all start clearing up the spilled liquors, collect the discarded glasses and straws, ready for the next influx of customers. 

It’s as Dan is stacking glasses back underneath the bar that he hears Tyler suck in a surprised little gasp beside him. Dan glances over at his friend, intrigued. 

“Did you spill something on the Givenchy?” 

“Um, Dan,” Tyler says, his voice unusually strained. “You know that hot Instagram model you’re obsessed with?”

“AmazingPhil, yeah,” Dan says. “And I’m not obsessed. Just a big fan.” 

“Right, right,” Tyler says, his eyes wide. He looks as if he’s hiding a smile. “Well, isn’t that him over there?” 

Dan sighs, wondering what sort of inane prank he’s about to be subjected to as he turns in the direction Tyler is pointing. It’s right then that he catches a glimpse of two tall, attractive men pushing through the crowds towards the bar. 

One of them looks very, very familiar. 

Dan drops the glass he’s holding. Luckily, Tyler catches it before it smashes on the floor. 

“Ohmygod,” Dan squeaks. 

He immediately turns to flee, to sprint in the opposite direction, but Tyler grabs him by the shoulders, holding him in place. “Wait, what are you doing?! This is it, Dan! The chance encounter!” 

“Nononono,” Dan says, struggling in Tyler’s hold. “No way, uh-uh, I am not prepared for this. Look at me! I’m soaked in beer, I’m sweaty and gross and halfway through a hell-shift, I can’t-”

“Excuse me?” A silken voice Dan would recognise anywhere calls from the end of the bar. “Can we get some drinks, please?”

Dan has been listening to that voice in AmazingPhil’s Instagram stories every day for months. Maybe years. 

Tyler lifts a hand in acknowledgement, grinning over Dan’s shoulder. Then, he looks Dan firmly in the eye. “Daniel, you look like a snack every damn day and you know it. We are both aware that your twink-ass gets the majority of the tips around here. Now go and have your perfect little meet-cute with that gorgeous man you stare at every day.” 

Before Dan can argue, Tyler is spinning him around and shoving him, rather hard, in the direction of Phil Lester, Dan’s all-time celebrity crush, who has, somehow, ended up here, tonight, in the flesh. 

Phil grins at him, and Dan tries hard not to fall to the sticky floor. 

“GetyoucanIwhat?”

A crease forms between Phil’s brow. “Uh, sorry?” 

Dan closes his eyes, cursing every damn bone in his body. He opens them, taking a deep breath in, and plasters on a smile. “Sorry, forgot how to speak for a second. Um, what can I get you?” 

“Hah, no worries. Happens to me all the time.” Phil smiles again, big and broad, just how he had in the selfie Dan has been staring at since he posted it five hours earlier. “Do you do cocktails?” 

“S-sure do,” Dan manages, finding a damp, laminated cocktail menu from somewhere and handing it to him. 

Phil’s long, pale fingers spread over the page; he has big hands. Much bigger than they look in photos. Dan can’t seem to stop staring at them. 

“Wow, the choice is overwhelming,” Phil says. He lifts his eyes to Dan’s again. “What’s your favourite?” 

So, Dan’s favourite is kind of boring. He likes classic cocktails, the proper kinds from the 20′s and 30′s, when you’d have a few strong liquors to work with, and be served in a secret speakeasy behind a laundromat, where the air was thick with cigar fumes and rich, smooth jazz. 

Dan’s drink is a Dark and Stormy. 

But he knows Phil. He’s seen the nights out he’s been on, has zoomed in with curious fingers on the photos where he holds a drink in his hands. He goes for the craziest cocktails on the menu, every time. The ones that are vibrant, rainbow colours, and served with crazy straws and sparklers. 

Phil Lester has a sweet tooth, no question. So a Dark and Stormy is out of the question. 

“If you’re into the sweet kind of cocktail, I’d go for the Rainforest.” 

Without even looking at the menu again, Phil nods. “Sounds good. Two of those, please.” 

It takes Dan a moment, lost as he is in the deep chambers of those blue eyes, but he belatedly nods, turning to make the drinks. His hands are shaking madly, and he feels like he’s about to pass out, but he’s made this cocktail thousands of times. He knows how, he reminds himself as he gathers the ingredients. 

This whole situation is so surreal. It feels like he’s stumbled into a dream version of his life, where his favourite fictional characters crawl out of their fantastical landscapes and into reality. Of course, on some level, he knew that Phil was not fictional, but he always seemed so far away. So divided from Dan’s mundane existence. 

Phil’s life is opulent limousine rides and trips to Bali for photoshoots. 

Dan’s life is getting hit on by drunken, sweaty guys each night, and scrolling through Instagram in bed while eating Doritos after a fourteen hour shift. 

Even when Dan saw that Phil had moved to Brighton, he never seriously thought that their paths would cross. Thinking back on it, he’s not sure why he was so sure about that, considering he works at the most popular gay bar in town, and Phil is a renowned party-person, not to mention openly gay. 

Eventually, he turns back to Phil, holding two powder blue cocktails in his hands. He places them carefully on the bar, watching Phil’s eyes light up in delight. 

“Wow, these look amazing,” Phil says, throwing Dan another dazzling grin. He slips his mouth around one of the stripy straws, and takes a sip. Focused dazedly on the tight circle of Phil’s lips around the tip of the straw, Dan whites out for a minute. “Oh my  _God_ ,” Phil moans, throwing his head backwards. The sound of his appreciation makes Dan blush. “That is like… orgasmically good. What’s in this?” 

Dan chuckles, his knees shaking, threatening to give way beneath him. “Oh, it’s uh, watermelon vodka. That stuff is the tits.” 

Phil barks a laugh at the phrasing, then leans in for another sip. 

“I think I’m in love,” Phil groans around the straw, holding Dan’s gaze. There’s an unmistakeable glimmer in his eye. “How much do I owe you?” 

“It’s eighteen pounds,” Dan replies, wincing as he relays the absurd cost. “You missed Happy Hour, I’m afraid.”

“Honestly, this is worth the money,” Phil tells him, digging into his pockets. He pulls out a twenty, and hands it to Dan. 

Just then, the man Dan saw come in with Phil appears at his side, throwing an arm around his shoulder. He leans heavily on Phil, saying something into his ear that Dan can’t make out. 

Before Dan can say another word, Phil is being dragged away from the bar, two drinks in his hand. He smiles at Dan gratefully. “Keep the change!” 

As soon as Phil is sucked into the crowd, Dan falls directly to the floor. 

*

“Fuck’s sake, what’re you doing in here? Do you know how packed it is tonight?” 

Dan looks up from where he’s crouched between two beer barrels. How long has he been in the cellar? He thought it had only been a minute or so, but time has lost its meaning, at this point. 

Tyler huffs a sigh in the face of Dan’s silence, stalking over to him to haul him upright again. “Get it together, you nonce. So your crush walked into the bar. We still have four hours before closing and I cannot survive this mania without you.” 

“Ty… he’s here,” Dan whispers, Phil’s face flashing into his mind again, every bit as beautiful and detailed as it had been when it stared across the bar at him. How the fuck had he survived that interaction? “He’s  _here_.” 

“Yes, Dan,” Tyler says, condescension dripping from every syllable. “I know, I saw him, remember?”

Dan clutches at Tyler’s arms. “You don’t understand, Ty… I don’t think I can get through this.” 

“You already served him,” Tyler says, bewildered. “It went fine! You were making him smile, I saw you. It went well.” 

“You know how sometimes some women get like… crazy surges of adrenaline when their babies are stuck under cars, and can temporarily become, like, super-beings?” Dan asks. 

“Yeah…” Tyler replies. 

“That’s what just happened with me.” Dan swallows hard. “I don’t know how I fucking did that. How did I speak to him? He’s literally my dream guy.” 

Tyler rolls his eyes, and slaps Dan across the cheek. Dan rears back from him, yelping. Everything gets a little sharper, the pain de-fuzzing his mind. He feels a rush of annoyance for Tyler. 

“What the fuck did you do that for?” 

“To snap you out of it. Pull yourself together, weirdo. I get it, he’s your senpai, but you’re gonna have to deal with it.” 

Dan nods, sighing. Tyler’s right, of course. He bites his lip, his stomach thrashing like stormy waves on a turbulent ocean at the idea of having to speak with Phil again. 

“Did I really make him smile?” 

“Babe,” Tyler says, steering him towards the door of the cellar. “I don’t know much, but I know gay culture. And that boy was straight-up flirting.”

*

It’s half two, and Dan is spending most of his time scanning the room in between tasks, searching for a glimpse of Phil’s gorgeous face, or body, or silhouette. 

Phil and the other man - who Dan has belatedly realised he recognises as Charlie Hickory, another model that sometimes appears in Phil’s Instagram pictures - have found a small table in the VIP area. Dan’s not sure how they swung that, as usually those tables need to be booked in advance, but it probably has something to do with Phil and Charlie’s semi-celeb status, and the pushover nature of their security guard, Matt. 

All night, Dan’s been trying to work out if Charlie is Phil’s boyfriend. They seem close, but not terribly affectionate, so it’s difficult to tell. They’re sitting side by side on the plush sofa by their table. Phil’s arm is leant against the back of the seat, his body turned towards Charlie, his head looking away, as if he’s only half-listening. 

To Phil’s credit, Charlie is clearly wasted, if the amount he’s gesticulating is anything to go by. It’s doubtful that the conversation is all that stimulating. 

Dan wonders what Charlie might be saying, and if it’s difficult to hold Phil’s interest, or whether he’s just a boring guy. Dan had managed to make Phil smile, after all. 

He’s just finishing pouring a group of stiletto-wearing young men some shots of Apple Sourz, mulling this over, when someone grabs his attention at the bar. 

‘Grab’ in a literal sense, as he feels the dude’s hand clutch at his arm. Instinctively, Dan yanks himself free, having had many a drunken move being made on him in this job. It takes him a moment to register that the grabby dude is Charlie, the very person on Dan’s mind. He does not look happy. 

He slams the drink Dan remembers making earlier in the night onto the bar. The bright blue ‘Rainforest’ cocktail. Considering he made the thing hours ago, Dan’s not surprised to find that it’s separated a bit, the colour has faded, and it generally looks rather nasty. 

“Hey, are you the guy that made this?” The man shouts at him. “It’s fucking disgusting. Are you trying to give your customers diabetes, or what?” 

Dan moves his gaze to the drink, then drags it slowly back up to the man. 

“Yeah, I made it. It’s one of our most popular cocktails.” 

“It tastes like ass.” 

Dan purses his lips. “Maybe that’s why most of our customers love it so much.”

The guy snorts in derision, then reaches his hand out, as if to jab an accusatory finger in Dan’s direction. Unfortunately, his depth perception seems to be somewhat altered by his drunken state, so he instead just knocks the drink straight across the bar, soaking Dan’s shirt. 

Dan jumps backwards, but it’s far too late - he’s drenched. “Oh for fuck’s- Matt! Matt, get this idiot out of here!” 

Hearing Dan’s cry, Matt meets Dan’s eye from across the sea of bodies, and begins pushing through the crowd towards the bar. As soon as he’s close enough, he seizes the drunkard by the arms and looks to Dan for confirmation, his eyes shining with exhilaration. 

“This dude causing trouble?” Matt asks, sounding way too pleased. The poor guy rarely gets to do anything but keep an eye out in his job.

“Yeah, he’s wasted. Get him out of here.”

“What?!” Charlie shouts, indignant. “Get th’ fuck off me m’fine. It’s your staff that’re fuckin’ dickheads- I was jus’ complaining ‘bout my drink-”

“Matt, kick him,” Dan reiterates, wringing some blue liquid from his shirt. 

Matt nods, and drags the guy away, ignoring his loud protestations. Dan just sighs, grumbling under his breath about how he does not get paid enough to deal with assholes like that every weekend. 

Now his jeans are covered in beer, and his shirt is covered in Rainforest cocktail. Tyler walks up to him, looks down at the puddle of blue at his feet, the damp stickiness of his shirt, and laughs. 

*

Fifteen minutes before closing, Dan flickers the lights to indicate that people should start clearing out. The DJ makes an announcement that they’re going to cease serving soon, and Dan diligently starts clearing the bar area in preparation for the end of the night. 

He can’t wait for tonight to be over, honestly. 

It’s been a crazy shift, mostly because of Phil who seems to have disappeared when his friend got booted. It’s merciful, honestly, because Dan now looks a state due to all the mishaps. Not that he would’ve managed more than a meek few more words with Phil even if he was dressed to the nines. 

Besides, Dan seriously doubts he’s in Phil’s good books now, as he did get his friend kicked out on their first visit.

He’s just cleaning the nozzles of the beer taps when he senses a presence in front of him, the other side of the bar. He lifts his head, the words ‘sorry, last call was ten minutes ago’ on the tip of his tongue, and stops short, eyes widening. 

Phil is stood there, a few collected empty glasses in his hands, and an apologetic grimace on his face. “Hey.”

Phil places the glasses down carefully, and Dodie and Lara rush over to grab them, shooting secret, excited glances at Dan, unsubtly. 

There’s a drawn out pause wherein Dan tries to remember how to form words. 

“H-hi.”

“I just wanted to come and apologise to you for my friend,” Phil says, sounding sincere. “Friend is actually a pretty strong term. He’s more like… an associate.” 

“Oh, right, um,” Dan swallows, glancing down at his wet shirt and adjusting it self-consciously. “Yeah, it’s… don’t worry about it. I’m used to dealing with, uh, guys who’ve had a few too many.” 

Phil smiles sympathetically. “That’s a nice way of describing someone who was an absolute dickhead to you.” His gaze falls to Dan’s hands, which play with the hem of his sodden shirt; Phil winces. “Did he do that?” 

Dan nods. “I think it was an accident, but he didn’t seem too sorry about it.” 

Dan rolls his eyes, remembering the smug look on the dude’s face as he saw the drink spill over Dan’s torso. 

“I’m gonna have such a go at him tomorrow,” Phil mutters, frowning. “See, Charlie and I work for the same agency and, well, they’re all about ‘image’. So they encourage me to hang out with him because we have the right ‘look’ together or something. It’s all bullshit. Especially because the guy’s pretty insufferable.”

“Oh,” Dan says, focusing all his energy on sounding interested but not  _too_  interested, lest he give away how big of a fanboy he is. “Sounds like a… strange job.”

Phil grins. “Yeah, but it has its perks. At least I don’t get brightly coloured drinks thrown on me.” 

Dan laughs, feeling it spread over his mouth helplessly. The action feels like a strain on his facial muscles, and he realises it’s probably the first time he’s smiled in hours. 

“I actually got sprayed with the lager hose when I changed the barrels earlier, so I’m pretty moist all over right now.” 

Immediately, Dan closes his eyes, berating himself for choosing such an inadvertently sexual way to phrase that. Phil laughs though, which is so lovely, and such a gorgeous, rich sound, that Dan forgives himself instantly. 

“I feel so bad,” Phil groans. “Hey, let me give you my shirt. You can’t finish up your shift like that.”

Dan feels like he’s been winded. Phil reaches for the top button of his shirt. 

“No! No, honestly, I can’t let you-”

“Hey,” Phil interrupts, reaching across the bar to place a hand on Dan’s shoulder. Dan looks at the hand, feeling the heat of Phil’s skin pass through the soaked material of his tee, right into his bones. “He’s my idiot friend. And besides, I’m the one who got him that drink. I should’ve known he’d hate it, he counts calories like a madman. But I got distracted by the cute bartender, and forgot to order him something else.”

Phil grins at him, and Dan tries with everything he has not to let his jaw unhinge and smash into the floor.  

“Let me make this up to you.” Phil says, not leaving much room for argument.

Phil withdraws his hand, shakes it free of the wetness, and methodically begins undoing his shirt. The few folks left in the bar, gathering their jackets and finishing their drinks turn to see the spectacle. Of course, being right in front of the guy, Dan has the best view. 

He can feel Tyler’s eyes boring into him from somewhere nearby, but he daren’t so much as glance away from the sight of Phil revealing his defined, pale chest bit by bit, right before his eyes. A minute later, and Phil is shrugging the garment over his muscled shoulders, and over his arms. Once shirtless, he hands the shirt out to Dan, who doesn’t even notice the thing, and can only stare, gobsmacked, at Phil Lester, AmazingPhil, shirtless and in the flesh, across from him. 

Phil coughs, and Dan realises he needs to take the shirt being offered. Or at least stop being such a pervert. He blushes deeply, muttering something that absolutely isn’t words as he accepts the warm bundle from Phil’s outstretched hand. 

Phil chuckles at him. “You’re welcome.” 

“You really didn’t have to…” Dan mumbles, trying to look anywhere but at the smattering of soft, dark hair across Phil’s chest. “You have to get home… won’t you be cold?” 

“Oh, no, I live literally down the street.” There’s a smirk on Phil’s face, as if he can see right through Dan’s avoiding eye. “I just moved here actually. Tonight was kind of a scouting mission. I wanted to see what bars Brighton has to offer, and I have to say, this place is really cool.” 

Dan nods, mind swirling. He can’t think, he can’t breathe, he can’t remember his own god damn name. He wishes he could crumble to the floor to gather himself, but instead he’s having to hold up his end of a conversation with the guy of his most sordid fantasies, whilst said dream-guy is half naked. 

“It’s Brighton’s most popular gay bar,” Dan says, deciding that falling into his rehearsed, salesman voice is the best way forwards. He doesn’t have to think too much to recite facts about his work establishment. “We have Bingo nights on Thursdays and Karaoke on Fridays, then Saturdays are our biggest-”

“Bingo?” Phil asks, laughing. “That’s not one you hear every day.”

Dan melts into a smile. “You should come along. It’s way less lame than it sounds, I promise.”

“Hmm, well if you’re promising.” Phil winks at him, and Dan’s heart palpitates into a frenzy. “Are you the one calling out the numbers?” 

“…yep.”

“Is there a prize?”

“Fifty pound bar tab.” 

“Hmm, tempting.” Phil leans forwards on the bar, arms folded. All of Dan’s breath escapes his lungs as they seize up. “Well, I’m gonna have to come back at some point. I’ll be needing to retrieve my shirt.”

“I-I can send it back to you if it’s a problem.” 

Phil’s gaze drags over him once more, a caress against Dan’s damp skin. 

“Tell you what, let me give you my number,” Phil says, plucking Dan’s phone straight from where it’s peeking out of his jeans pocket. Dan just lets it happen, too paralysed by Phil’s proximity to do much else. “What’s your passcode?”

“Uh… 5,6,7,8,” Dan admits, cheeks aflame. A surprised laugh bursts from Phil’s lips, and he begins humming the song under his breath as he unlocks the phone. 

Then, the worst thing happens. It takes a few moments for Dan’s brain to catch up with the proceedings, but then the phone is opening, and the first thing to flash up is, of course, Instagram. But not just the homepage. The last thing that Dan was looking at. 

The AmazingPhil Instagram page fills the screen, boasting its 3.4 million followers, and the little blue tick by his name, verifying his celebrity status. 

Dan can only watch, helpless, as the recognition passes across Phil’s face, and his eyebrow quirks. He smiles very slightly, and says nothing, simply clicking onto Dan’s homepage, and then his contacts. He is silent as he types his name and number into the phone, then hands it back into Dan’s mortified hands. 

“I don’t think I got your name,” Phil tells him. “I can save you as cute bartender when you text me, but… it might be nice to know what you’re really called.” 

Dan’s mind reels, too horrified by everything that just occurred to possibly respond. Luckily, at that moment, someone sidesteps into his space.

“Dan,” the someone says. It sounds a lot like Tyler. “His name is Dan.” 

Phil smirks again, nodding once. “Nice to meet you, Dan. I’ll see you on Thursday, I guess.” 

“You will,” Tyler agrees, nudging Dan in the side. “He’ll be here! He works Thursdays seven till two.” 

Phil nods, leaning away and making to leave. The curve of his back reminds Dan of the taper in a violin. Just as he’s nearing the exit, Phil turns. 

“Oh, and sorry again about my friend. I think I’ll leave him behind next time I come by.” 

Phil winks at Dan, smiling, and turns to go, a slight sway in his hips as he walks. Dan promptly falls onto Tyler, who yelps as he struggles to hold Dan’s weight. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bingo!

The  _Habenero_  bar is closed on Sundays, thank God. 

The owner of the establishment is, surprisingly, a devout Catholic that believes in resting on the Sabbath. Dan is all for this Catholic tradition (ignoring, for now, all the oppression and homophobia) because after Saturday night’s hell shifts, he’s usually in need of some recuperation. 

He wakes up at 2pm on Sunday afternoon on his sofa in a shirt that doesn’t belong to him. His phone is stuck to his cheek, and there are crisp crumbs in his hair. There’s a fug of stale, smoky, sweat in the air, like the smell of the soaked dancefloor of the bar at the end of each night. Belatedly, Dan realises that he’s fallen asleep in what he was wearing when he got back last night, meaning that he’s still soaked in alcohol. 

Grimacing at his own grossness, Dan hauls himself up from the sofa and staggers into the bathroom to shower. It’s only as he peers up at his reflection in the mirror above the sink that he remembers the shirt. At first, it confuses him, as it’s far too nice of a garment to be his. It’s clearly fitted, tailored probably, with a subtly cinched waist, and neat, complex stitching around the hem and sleeves. 

He peers closer at his reflection to read the little label on the pocket. 

_Givenchy_

Dan jumps backwards, hands held aloft as if he’s about to mark the thing with his grubby paws. He needs to get this thing off him right now, it’s far too expensive to be on his body. How had he let himself fall asleep in this last night? It’s probably all crumpled, he’ll have to get it dry cleaned-

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he scrambles for it, heart pounding as he catches sight again of his snappily dressed reflection. It’s a text from Tyler, the last of several by the looks of things. He swipes to view them.

 **From: Tyler**  
omg CANNOT believe what  
happened last night

 **From: Tyler**  
can we get brunch today?? lots  
to discuss..

 **From: Tyler**  
hellooo?? earth to dan?

 **From: Tyler**  
did u die from overstimulation of  
the brain after giving ur all time  
celeb crush ur fREAKING NUMBER

 **From: Tyler**  
message me when ur awake bitch x

The blood drains from Dan’s face as he reads through the messages, all of which confirm that the events of last night weren’t a dream, and that, yes, Phil Lester did saunter into the bar, flirt with him, and hand over his designer shirt so that Dan wouldn’t have to finish work in a soaked one. 

Not knowing how to respond to Tyler, Dan chooses to just ignore it for now. He places the phone down and begins carefully unbuttoning the shirt, fingers practically trembling when he thinks of how expensive it would be if he were to accidentally rip a button off. As his fingers open the lapels, his mind flashes up a helpful image of Phil doing the exact same in front of him last night, his methodical, pale fingers working to reveal his bare chest inch by inch, right in the middle of the god damn bar. 

Dan’s face flames, and he tries hard to think of something else. Once the shirt is off, he folds it as carefully as he can and places it on the counter beside the sink. He then shucks off his beer-soaked jeans, which do not get anywhere near the same treatment, and jumps into the shower. 

It’s only as the warm, comforting stream of water cascades over him that Dan’s frantic mind relaxes enough to slip back into the memory of the previous evening, and all that transpired. Phil Lester. Right there before him. 

The slow, flirtatious smile spreading across his broad, full lips. The familiar sweep of his jet black hair. The pulse of his glinting blue eyes in the swirl of coloured lights. 

_‘I got distracted by the cute bartender, and forgot to order him another one...’_

_‘I could save you as cute bartender when you text me...’_

_Cute_. Phil had called him cute. Twice.

The water seems scalding hot, suddenly. Dan’s body temperature rises by at least two degrees, he’s sure. He swallows down some saliva, and runs his hands through his wet curls. How on earth had any of this happened? Situations like this are so unlikely that they’re almost never heard of. 

He feels how he imagines Katie Holmes must have felt when Tom Cruise sidled up to her, all flirtatious smiles and pick-up lines, after she’d been staring at his poster for all her childhood, tacked onto her bedroom wall. 

Again, the thick, treacly gaze Phil cast across to him over the bar seeps into Dan’s mind. The memory of it covers Dan's whole body, as if it were pouring out of the shower head, slathering him in its intensity. The amount of time Dan has spent staring into those eyes on his phone screen is insurmountable, but having experienced them in real life, he now knows that he may as well not have bothered. Those eyes will haunt him for the rest of time. 

He feels the familiar scratch of arousal start to drag at his thighs, tingling at the tips of his fingers, so he turns the temperature down, trying to divert it. Now that he’s spoken with Phil, so recently, it would seem odd to jerk off to the thought of him. 

...Not that AmazingPhil is anything like a stranger in Dan’s mental storage of wanking material. 

It’s just as Dan is rinsing the shampoo out of his hair that he remembers the one, tiny hiccup in the exchange with his crush. Phil had stolen Dan’s phone to type in his number, and had seen that Dan had been stalking his Instagram. 

As he freezes, remembering this mortifying scene, the shampoo trickles down into Dan’s eyes, blinding him. 

“Fuck!” Dan shouts, loud enough that he’s sure the neighbours heard. 

*

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tyler shovels a slice of avocado toast into his mouth. He chews a bit, noisily, then continues speaking with his mouth full. “I trawl the billions of nasty vintage shops in the Laines for a designer shirt, and you get one handed to you for free?! And by a dazzling, incredibly hot  _model_? Hand over your fucking magic lamp, Dan. Some of us need it more than others.”

Dan watches with a slightly downturned mouth as Tyler talks around his mouthful of food. “Err, I think I was due some good luck, actually.”

Tyler looks like he’s about to argue, but then shuts his mouth, staring down at his plate in reluctant acceptance. “Yeah, okay, true. But  _still_. Can I at least touch it?”

Dan shakes his head, drawing the bag containing the shirt closer to his side of the table. He’s taking it to the local dry cleaning company after this, as well as giving the staff there a long, terrifying warning that if they do so much as snag a stitch, there will be hell to pay. 

“No way,” Dan replies. “You’ll nick the thing if I let you too close to it.” 

Tyler sighs. “You know me too well.” He bites his lip, staring longingly at the bag, and sighs again. “So, when is Mister Delavigne retrieving his garment?” 

Dan shrugs, poking at the poached egg on his plate with a fork. He has no idea why he ordered this, he doesn’t really eat eggs. But brunch is such a specific meal, he feels like he needs to order something aesthetically ‘brunch-like’. 

“Wait, you mean you haven’t set up a time to give it back to him yet?” Tyler asks, horrified. 

“It hasn’t even been a day,” Dan says. “Besides, he said he might stop in on Thursday for Bingo-”

“No no no!” Tyler cries, sounding scandalised. “Dan, are you this clueless? The man gave you his number!” 

Dan’s cheeks heat, remembering the incident that occurred during this scenario. “Yeah, to text him about getting the shirt back.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “No, you nonce, the shirt is irrelevant! It’s an excuse for you to get in touch with him.” 

This time, Dan rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a fucking designer shirt, he just wants to make sure he’ll get it back.” 

“He was flirting with you!” 

“He’s a flirty guy. Trust me, I know everything about him. I’m like... a big fan.” 

A sigh of pity gusts across the table towards him. Tyler places a hand atop his, and leans forwards. “Dan, listen to me. Text that hunk of delicious, geek-chic muscle, and watch how he responds. I _guarantee_ he will try and flirt more.” 

“I guarantee he will just say he wants his shirt back.” 

Tyler smirks. “You’re on, dumbo.” 

*

It takes Dan two and a half beers to summon the courage to text Phil. He spends Sunday evening scrolling through the photos on the AmazingPhil Instagram page, studying each one in great detail so that he can remember each minute feature of Phil’s perfect, Adonis-like face. 

He’s had the text message screen up for some time, the word ‘Phil’ at the top where he’d saved his number, as if he were just any ‘Phil’, rather than the Amazing Phil that has haunted Dan’s daydreams ever since he first stumbled on a photo of him years prior. 

For maybe the sixth time that night, Dan types out a potential message. 

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
Hey, this is Dan from Habeneros bar. I  
have your shirt. Would you like me to   
send it back to you?

He doesn’t send it yet. Instead, he copies the message, and pastes it into his chat with Tyler. The response is practically instantaneous. Dan wonders, not for the first time, if Tyler actually has any semblance of a life outside of the bar. 

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
wtf is that shit????

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
r u trying to turn him off

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
?? what do u mean

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
u sound like a bot

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
im being polite!!!

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
polite is not going to get you in  
his pants

Instantly, Dan’s cheeks catch aflame, and he feels his heart squeeze. Even the idea of such a thing is too much for Dan’s poor, wrung out brain to comprehend. He could never, in a billion years, be that lucky. After last night, where one of the most absurd of his sexual fantasies came true - Phil stripping off in front of him in public - he’s sure his luck has run dry. 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
shut up. tell me what to say then

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
‘hey sexy, still shirtless? i live  
nearby if u want some help with  
that...’

Dan splutters and chokes on his beer. 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
NO!!

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
fine fine. prude. how about...

Teeth gritted as he wills his heart rate to settle back into a reasonable rhythm, Dan waits for Tyler’s next message. His fingernails tap on the edge of his beer bottle.  _Trit, trit, trit._

 **From: Tyler  
To: Dan**  
‘hey! not sure if u remember me  
but u heroically clothed me in ur  
Givenchy at a bar on Sat. the lanky  
bartender covered in blue sugary  
liquid? i know, i know, super hot.   
anyway :’) i have your shirt. you   
should swing by the bar again! or i   
can send it back. up to you dude!   
but bingo nights are off the fuckin  
chain js. let me know :) x’

Dan reads the message through, only cringing slightly. Honestly, he was sure it would be way worse. It’s actually kind of funny, and weirdly sounds like him. Tyler has clearly been subjected to Dan’s lame sense of humour for far too long. 

Without thinking, Dan drains the rest of his beer, copies the message Tyler gave him, and pastes it into the text box he’s opened with Phil. He presses send before his alcohol laced mind can catch up, wanting to be rid of this conundrum. 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
ok, sent it. 

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
omg what :O

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
**did you really?? :’’’D**

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
i thought you’d want to edit it a bit  
first!! wow ok looool

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
dont say that! you’ll make me anxious

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
besides you made it sound like me its  
fine

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
uh huh... let me know what he says :’D

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Tyler**  
i fucking hate u

 **From: Tyler**  
**To: Dan**  
xxx

The corner of Dan’s mouth quirks traitorously. His relationship with Tyler is complicated. Never before has he been able to hate someone and love them at the same time. Just as he’s about to pocket the phone again, it buzzes in his hand. He glances at the screen to see that Phil has - _oh, God_ \- already texted him back. 

He almost drops the damn thing.

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
hey dan! yeah of course i remember  
you ;D surprisingly i dont strip off  
in the middle of a bar that often. or   
for just anyone ;) omg id forgotten  
about bingo!! super excited. i’ll be  
there! what time should i swing by?  
xx

His hand grows clammy, and he can feel his heart picking up speed. It’s mental that just reading Phil’s words can have him so agitated. He wonders if Phil has already saved his name into his phone. Probably not. Dan’s still a complete stranger, just one that happens to have a very expensive item of his clothing. 

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
awesome. you wont be disappointed!  
bingo starts at 7 on thursdays :) ur   
shirt and i will see you there! x

Dan dithers about the kiss. He deletes it and retypes it three times, wondering what sort of message it transforms into when it’s added. In the end, after careful analysis of Phil’s initial message (in which there are not one, but  _two_  kisses attached) he decides to leave it on. 

Dan more or less expects that to be the end of the conversation, and he breathes a sigh of relief as the text swoops out of his control, but the sight of the three pulsating dots on the left bottom corner of his screen stop him from closing the text window. 

He waits, heart palpitating, for Phil’s reply. 

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
are u feeding her well? i hope ur   
taking her for a walk twice a day.   
tell her i love and miss her, and  
will see her soon. xx

Dan snorts with laughter, realising that Phil is referring to the shirt. 

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
she just pooped on my carpet :/  
buttons everywhere x

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
:o so sorry. will be sure to give  
her no treats when i get her back  
xx

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
what kind of treats does she like? x

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
moth balls, tide pods... she’s fussy   
:/ xx

Dan’s sniggers into his jumper sleeve, eyes crinkling at Phil’s silly responses. Is this flirting, he wonders? Could Tyler have been right about this? 

 **From: Phil**  
**To: Dan**  
gotta run! im sitting in makeup for  
a shoot and they just finished   
prettifying me :’D see u thurs ;) xx

 _‘You’re already pretty’_ is Dan’s instant thought for a response, but he deletes it as soon as his fingers begin typing the words. He shakes his head at himself, berating his brain for being so gooey and idiotic. 

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil**  
cool :) see u! x

Much more appropriate, Dan thinks, then locks his phone. It hits him like a freight train as he sits on the edge of his bed, blank phone in hand, that he just arranged a follow up meeting with AmazingPhil. 

He remains perfectly still, sure that the second he moves, the impact of what he’s just done will send him into a full blown panic attack. He invited Phil to _Bingo night_ of all nights. 

He drops his head into his hands, groaning. As he looks up through the slats between his fingers, he notices the Givenchy shirt, hanging proudly on the door of his wardrobe. 

“This is all your fault,” Dan tells it. It doesn’t respond. 

*

Bingo nights are one of the Habenero bar’s busiest. Tyler first came up with the idea around two years ago, being a self-declared Bingo-hoe, but filled with criticism of Brighton’s few and far between Bingo events. 

“ _Bingo should be about booze, glitter, and loud, obnoxious screaming_ ,” Tyler used to say. “ _Brighton needs to up its Bingo game_.” 

Finally, after months of pleading to Habenero's owner, Tyler managed to wrangle an opportunity to host an experimental Bingo evening, run on his terms. He spared no expense of the meagre budget he was permitted, and created Brighton's, and maybe the world's, first Gay Rave Bingo Extravaganza. 

There are several rounds to the game. The first is the ‘classic’ round, to get everyone into the swing of things. Players are in teams of up to five, they get a Bingo board between them with a selection of random numbers. Tyler, the charismatic host, hops up on the stage to crack a few jokes and welcome everyone. He then goes back to serve drinks whilst Dan calls out the numbers. 

Teams receive ten points per round if they win, five if they come second, one if they come third. 

The following rounds get a little... messier. There’s a ‘drag race’ round, where new boards are handed out, and photos of the RuPaul’s Drag Race contestants are projected onto a screen. Players must correctly identify the contestants in order to be able to cross them all off on their boards. 

This is followed by Dan’s favourite, the ‘closet smash’ round, where clips of famous ‘gay’ scenes from movies, TV shows, webseries’ or any other kind of media are shown on mute, and players must cross the unheard lines of dialogue off on their board. 

There’s a ‘guess the ballad’ round, where LGBT+ friendly songs are played that must be guessed, and finally one last round of just numbers, this time while everyone is significantly more drunk (drinking a sip or a shot each time a correct answer is guessed is highly encouraged, but not necessarily advised by the bar staff, due to the lawsuit that could ensue) and there are loud, booming Madonna hits playing. 

The team with the most points at the end of the night gets a £50 bar tab, along with a shower of glitter, confetti and applause. The losing team has to forfeit. 

Phil arrives in the nick of time, flanked by one intimidatingly attractive man, and a slightly older straight couple. Dan spots them straight away, and hops down from the stage, pink-cheeked, as Tyler continues welcoming the various patrons that have shown up. 

There is no shortage of teams this evening. Dan sincerely hopes Phil is prepared for what’s about to unfold here, although if he has ever been to a different Bingo night, he probably has a very different idea of what to expect. As Dan approaches, he can see the flicker of surprise that is so often found on first-timers' faces, flickering across Phil's gorgeous features.  

“Hey,” Dan manages, heart already clawing itself up his throat. 

Phil turns to him, a bright smile sweeping across his face at once. “Dan!”

A bright, white flash of electricity shoots down Dan’s spine; hearing his name on Phil’s lips is a little too much to handle, at present. He manages not to swoon on the spot, just. 

“You made it!” 

“Of course!” Phil grins. “How could I resist Bingo night?”

Dan smiles, melting under the pleasant, crackling campfire of Phil's warm greeting. Tonight, Phil is wearing contacts, and his eyes seem even bluer than they had the first time. As he stares into them, Dan thinks he can spot glimmers of gold, of violet, of lime. 

“Not sure this is quite the sort of Bingo night I pictured when you dragged me here, Phil,” the attractive man on Phil’s left says, breaking Dan out of his trance. 

Phil laughs, nodding in agreement. "Me neither. But I'm excited. This is PJ by the way, Dan." Phil jabs a thumb at the man. "And this is my brother, Martyn, and his girlfriend, Cornelia." 

Dan waves to each of them, ending on PJ, for whom he finds himself needing to bite back a stab of jealousy. How many attractive men does Phil just cart around with him, day to day?

"Oh don't get me wrong, Dan, I'm excited too," PJ says. "Anything glittery brings out the craft-wizard in me."

"Sophie's going to be so pissed that she missed this," Phil says, eyes still sweeping around the gaudily decorated bar. Tyler spares no expense for Bingo nights. Everything is covered in banners, in balloons, in... glitter. Lots and lots of glitter. It's a nightmare to clean up at the end of the night, every time. 

"Not sure it's acceptable to have two straight couples in a gay bar," PJ mutters in response. 

Ah, Dan notes, his jealous monster retracting its claws. PJ is perhaps not as much of a threat as he'd thought. Not that there's anything about Dan which would need threatening. His chances with someone like Phil are laughably non-existent, whether or not Phil's handsome friends are straight. 

"Oh, you're all very welcome," Dan assures PJ. "Bingo is a non-discriminatory sport."

"Sport?" Martyn asks, looking a little more on the concerned side than some of the others.

Dan chuckles. "Yeah, uh, our take on Bingo is a bit more... energetic, than you might be used to."

Phil raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, obviously intrigued. Dan just smiles back enigmatically. “So, do you have a spare table for us?” 

“Hmm, we might,” Dan says, trying with all his might to look nonchalant as he sweeps a vague gaze across the room. 

By no means can Phil know that Dan has spent the last two hours in which he and his co-workers set up being relentlessly teased for insisting on saving the best table for AmazingPhil. He'd gotten to work early, in fact, and reserved Phil the table right near the front, not too close to the speakers, but with a fantastic view of the ball cage and the screen. 

As breezily as he can, Dan leads Phil and his friends to this table, and gets them seated with pens, a Bingo board, and some drinks menus. It’s at this moment that Tyler, who has been buffeting the audience about on the breeze of his easy, clever humour, decides to introduce him. 

“And this yummy little twink over here is Dan,” Tyler says into the mic he’s holding. He gestures down at where Dan hovers, near to Phil’s table. The audience all turn to him, spreading a warm, gradual blush over his cheeks. “Dan will be fondling all your balls this evening, so do please keep an eye on him. Tip him well, ladies. Fellas. Folks in between.”

The audience laugh heartily, including all of Phil's table, so Dan just glares at Tyler, then scurries onto the stage in preparation for the first round. As he draws the first few numbers from the ball cage, Tyler wanders through the tables, taking drinks orders and greeting some regulars. Dan watches him hawkishly as he goes, hardly concentrating as he calls out the numbers. Eventually, Tyler saunters over to Phil's table, which is a frightening thing to behold. Dan stutters as he calls out the number in his hand, too intent on trying to lip-read Tyler's words as he converses with Phil and his friends. 

Whatever Tyler is saying seems to be making Phil laugh, which is hardly a good sign. 

After a minute or so, Tyler moves away, and Dan relaxes into his routine, cracking jokes each time a vaguely sexual number is called out - everyone loses their goddamn shit as usual when he reads out 69 - and things pass without issue. He keeps an eye on Phil's table as subtly as he can, and from what he can make out, the four of them seem to be having a good time. 

It catches Dan off guard when a table near the back shout out "Bingo!", distracted as he is by Phil's presence tonight. He blinks at the winning table for a moment before remembering his duty, and calls them up on stage to check their board. 

"Alright, winner of the first round, table 22!"

"Our team name is actually Cougar Chasers," one glittery young man informs him. 

Dan just smiles awkwardly, not wanting to explain that team names have never been part of the Bingo rules. As the team leave the stage, Dan glances back down towards Phil's table just in time to see Phil mouth " _this_  round?" to PJ. 

He smirks to himself, wondering how the infamous AmazingPhil will cope under the intensity of the next few hours. 

*

Phil does not cope well. 

His team struggles the most by a long way, which is perfectly normal for first time Bingo players at Habenero. They get some points, but only a few, and are often seen scribbling frantically, or having heated discussions amongst themselves, eyes wide, hands gesticulating, stirring the confetti that's gathered on the table. 

Despite his poor performance, however, Phil seems to be enjoying his experience thoroughly. His glasses may be steamed from the dry ice Tyler pumps out in excess, and his clothes and hair might be smothered in an inch of glitter, but he's grinning widely, and is clearly trying his hardest. His forté seems to be the drag race round, for which his team actually manages to place second due to Phil's apparent extensive knowledge of the show. 

He throws the board up in the air when he shouts "Bingo!", but unfortunately it's a fraction of a second too late, and another team snags first place. 

At the end of the final round, it becomes clear to Dan, with a slow sense of dread, that Phil's team has lost. The losing team gets a forfeit, and it's almost always the same thing. Tyler swans over to the stage to announce the winners, and Dan falls back, eyeing Phil's table with a prickling fear. 

"...so big round of applause once more for our winners, everyone!" Tyler shouts once he's announced everyone. The crowd cheer and whistle for the winning teams, who bow theatrically, blowing kisses to the audience. "Bring your sparkly asses up to the bar to claim your £50 worth of drinks. But, come on now folks. I know what you dramatic little hoes are really excited for." Tyler winks and they all laugh, cheering happily. "Our big losers tonight... I am most _scintillated_ to announce, are..." 

Dan bites his lip. 

"Table 34! Otherwise known as our smoking celebrity presence this evening, Instagram's AmazingPhil," Tyler announces. "And friends." 

Phil's eyebrows shoot up in unmistakeable shock. The crowd cheers, bewildering him and the others at the table even further. To Dan's surprise, Phil looks to him, questioningly, as if he's asking Dan to explain. Dan sends him a pitying glance, wondering if there's any way to warn Phil of what's about to happen. It's usually fairly pointless to try and stop Tyler, however. And besides, the idiot is already speaking again. 

"So, I'm sure you all know by now what happens to our losing team each week," Tyler says, grinning down at them all. "Table thirty-four, please kindly follow me to the bar." 

A loud 'whoop' of excitement resounds around the room, and there's a scrape of chairs as people hurry over towards the bar, wanting to secure the best spots for the spectacle about to unfold. Dan reluctantly begins climbing down from the stage as well, at which point he feels someone grab his arm. He turns, surprised to find himself face to face with Phil, and stumbles on his way down. Phil, who still has hold of his arm, manages to stop Dan from landing smack down on the sticky floor, hauling him upright. 

Dan, mortified, stammers out some sort of thank you, much to Phil's amusement. "Don't worry," Phil tells him. "I surprised you, it's my fault. Though I have a feeling I'm not going to be feeling as chivalrous towards you in a few minutes." 

Phil raises an eyebrow at him, still questioning, and Dan just attempts an enigmatic smile. He's so flustered that he's sure it comes off as more of a grimace, but at least he tries. 

"Hey, mate, it's not my fault you suck at Bingo," Dan says, his daring comment scrounged up from a reserve of courage he wasn't aware existed. "The Habenero staff accept no responsibility for you not reading the rules of the event before participating." 

Phil huffs a laugh, and releases him. "Perhaps a certain bartender should have given me a list of these rules before allowing me to sign up?"

Dan throws his hands up in front of him, already backing away from the conversation. "Hey, all the rules are listed on our website. Now, sir, if you would kindly step up to the bar to accept your forfeit."

Just as Dan is about to turn from him and sprint off, Phil steps forwards, penetrating Dan's personal bubble with his intimidating presence. Dan stops breathing instantly, caught in a sudden limbo as the world slows around him, the movements of the crowd crawling to a snail's pace, the pumping music becoming a distorted drawl. Phil leans towards him, a smirk on his lips, which he brings to Dan's ear. 

"Kind of like it when you call me Sir." 

He leans away, and the world falls back into its rhythm, the music blaring, the lights swirling in a cacophony of colour. Dan blinks, or so it seems, and Phil has moved from him, is back with his friends, headed for the bar. Dan lets out the breath he's been holding in a sudden rush, his lungs screaming with relief. He takes a moment to gather himself as best he can, heart palpitating wildly, and shakily makes his way over as well. 

*

"So, Dan, tell me," Phil says, wiping his sodden fringe from his brow. "How is it that whenever I come within ten feet of you, I seem to have an overwhelming urge to remove my shirt?" 

Dan, who is having a great deal of trouble averting his gaze from the miles of smooth, glittery skin covering Phil's bare chest, shrugs, mouth moving without making a noise. Phil is dripping wet, covered in beads of moisture, his damp shirt slung over one shoulder. He looks delicious, like a cold, dewy, fresh apple, just begging Dan to sink his teeth in. Just then, Tyler wanders over, placing two shots down on the bar between Dan and Phil. 

"Don't worry, hot stuff," Tyler tells Phil, winking. "Dan's pretty, but his charms wear off eventually." 

"I doubt that," Phil replies smoothly. Dan splutters, reddening. Phil glances down at the shots Tyler handed over, frowning. "What's this?"

"Thought you deserved a drink after all we put you through this evening," Tyler says. "And I thought Dan might like to join you."

Dan glares at Tyler, who just beams back, happily, before sauntering away. Shyly, Dan turns back to Phil, who has picked up the shot glass between his thumb and forefinger, and is rotating it in the space between them, gazing into the clear liquid. 

"Sorry about him," Dan says, surprised that he's able to force the words out, croaky as they are. "And sorry about... y'know. Everything else." 

Glancing over the rim of the shot glass, Phil grins, eyes crinkling. "Are you kidding? This is the best Bingo night I've ever been to." 

"Even though we sprayed you and your friends with the soda hoses for losing?" 

Phil nods. "Which means you must be an excellent Bingo host." 

"I'm just the guy who reads the numbers," Dan says, dismissive. 

He refuses to take credit for the Bingo nights. They're Tyler's baby, he just helps out. 

"You clearly know your way around the balls," Phil jokes, winking as Dan splutters again. His cheeks feel like they're about to burst into flames, at this point.

"Hah, well..." Dan shifts awkwardly, adjusting his jeans - they have a tendency to slip down his hips without permission. "Good to know I have at least one talent, I guess." 

"So, are you going to drink with me, Dan?" 

Dan hesitates, looking down at the shot Tyler poured for him. The milky yellow colour suggests tequila, perhaps the strongest thing he could have given them. Dan has over an hour left of his shift still, and technically he's not supposed to ingest any alcohol whatsoever during working hours. However, that doesn't mean he never does. Customers buy him drinks all the time, and while he sometimes declines, or pretends to drink them... there have often been instances where he's given into temptation. 

As he stares across the counter at his all time crush, shirtless and dripping from where he'd been sprayed with lemonade and soda water, Dan kind of gets the feeling that this is going to be one of the times where his resistance falls through. 

Not trusting himself to speak, Dan just picks up the shot, and watches in quiet awe as Phil smiles, clinks his own against it, and throws it back, expertly. Caught on the tantalising bob of Phil's stubbled Adam's apple as he swallows the spirit, Dan almost forgets to drink his. He remembers just as Phil's eyes fall back to his, and downs it swiftly. 

Purely to show off, Dan reaches below the bar to grab some lemon wedges, and hands one to Phil, blushing. "Here, it's practically blasphemous to do a tequila shot without a chaser." 

"Well, I'm no stranger to sin," Phil says, but accepts the lemon anyway, grinning. 

Dan bites into his lemon wedge, cursing himself internally when he realises how unattractive his face becomes as he does so. Luckily, Phil just chuckles, and does the same, wincing. "Ugh, that was awful. Tell your friend I said thanks." 

Dan laughs. "I will."

"Well, I'd better get back to my friends," Phil says, scanning the immediate vicinity for them. "Not looking forward to another shirtless walk home though, I must admit. I got some... peculiar reactions from people last time." 

"Sorry about that," Dan says, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Oh, wait, what am I saying? I have your shirt from last time, you can wear that." 

"Oh, right," Phil says, laughing to himself. "I completely forgot that's why I came tonight."

"Having too much fun, clearly," Dan jokes, already scooting out from behind the bar. "Come with me, I left it in the staff room." 

Dan weaves through the thinning crowd of people. People tend to leave pretty quickly after Bingo night ends on Thursdays. He and Tyler will probably be able to close early tonight. Dan can feel Phil following behind, as if he's attuned to Phil Lester's movement, tapped into the heat of his body. He feels he'd be able to just sense if Phil was in a room, even if it was packed with people. Phil's presence pours out a specific, viscous aura, clogging Dan's pores, seeping into the workings of his brain and slowing them down, smearing a haze across his sight. 

They reach the door of the staff room, marked 'private', and Dan pushes inside, heading straight for the lockers on the far wall. His skin prickles, sensing that Phil has followed him in here. It only now occurs to Dan how strange this might seem, luring Phil into an empty, secret room under the premise of returning him something. He decidedly does not turn around, instead choosing to fumble with his locker key in the door. 

"I, uh, got it dry cleaned," Dan babbles, drawing the garment out of his locker. It's still on its hanger, as uncreased and pristine as Dan could manage. "I don't know if it was supposed to have any special treatment, but I told them to be extra careful-" 

As Dan turns, he realises that Phil has moved extremely close. Neither of them hit the light switch, so the room remains dark, only lit dimly by the coloured lights pouring in through the ajar door. Dan can hear Phil breathe, can hear the thump of someone's heart - probably his own. He's pretty sure the song playing in the bar outside is Britney's 'Toxic', but he can't be sure. The sound of his own desperate, roiling desire is deafening. 

"Thanks, Dan," Phil says softly, reaching for the shirt. "Wish I could've seen you in it." There's a pause; Dan can hear his own cells fizzing through his body. "Or not in it." 

In that second, Dan is sure he's about to be kissed. Every sign is there: Phil inching closer, leaning in, the flutter of his eyes, as if they're about to fall shut. Dan tries to brace himself for it, to prepare his frantic brain for something so miraculous, so improbably, so utterly wild as being kissed by AmazingPhil-

The door swings open. Blinding, fluorescent light floods the room, and Phil steps backwards, cringing from it. 

"Shit, sorry..." Lara says from the doorway. Her round, pretty face is filled with apologies. "My shift is over, Tyler said I could head home... fuck, did I interrupt-"

"Hey, it's okay," Phil says brightly, sending her a soft, reassuring smile. "Dan was just returning my shirt. I need to head home as well, anyway. Great night, guys! Thanks again for the shirt, Dan!" 

In the next second, he's gone, and Dan, a mess of emotions, is somehow on the floor, back against the lockers, mind utterly blank. He vaguely notes, in the background, Lara jabbering at him, a thousand apologies falling from her lips. 

*

For two agonising days, Dan hears nothing else. Aside from Tyler bringing the topic up every few milliseconds, Dan's life trundles on devoid of AmazingPhil. Even his Instagram is dry. The day after Bingo night, Phil posts an apology note on his Instagram story that reads:

_overdid it at Bingo last night (dont laugh) - having a much needed hangover day in bed with sweet potato fries & a Buffy marathon. Posts will resume ASAP! xx_

The day after that, Phil posts nothing. It's unusual. Instagram is Phil's job, so he posts at least once a day, normally. Of course, there are exceptions, like when he goes up North to visit his family, or is too busy and forgets. There's far from a regular upload schedule, but AmazingPhil can normally be relied upon to post at least once a day, and often more. 

Then, on Sunday, just as Dan is getting in from his shift at around six in the morning, his phone buzzes. Dan reaches for it as he's peering into his fridge. He's bone tired, but his stomach is not going to let him go straight to sleep. 

He checks his notification, and freezes, under the judgemental eye of the courgettes on the shelf in front of him. 

_amazingphil just posted a photo_

Dan swipes the screen carefully, his heart in his mouth. How is he going to handle seeing this man, again, after everything that's occurred? He holds his breath, picturing the slow steps Phil made towards him, the gradual descent of his plush, pink mouth, the glimmer in his round, blue eyes...

The photo flashes up, and Dan's stomach twists in shock. His heart plunges to his knees, and he has to cling onto the fridge door for support. The photo is of Phil, and someone else. That someone else is recognisably Charlie Hickory, the man Phil had brought with him the first time they met. 

They're kissing. 

_Hey guys! Sorry for the lack of posts, as you can see I've been kind of busy ;) back to normal uploads now, I promise!! xx_

As his eyes sting with white hot jealousy, Dan realises just how deeply he's stupidly, ignorantly allowed himself to wade into this swamp of yearning for a guy he could never, in a thousand years, hope to get. 

"Well, I'm a fucking twat," Dan sighs, and slams the fridge door. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two things cross Dan’s mind.
> 
> First, Dan can now officially state that he had a sneak-peek at an official AmazingPhil photo before it was posted.
> 
> Second, the bitch totally stole his joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will now update every Monday! Thanks for reading, everyone :D xx

Dan’s in the middle of his break, scrolling through his phone, when a text notification appears at the top of his screen. He drops his bagel into his lap, cursing.

The text is from Phil. He doesn’t know any other Phil’s, so it has to be AmazingPhil, texting him, inexplicably.

He clicks the notification, eyes wide, simultaneously scooping up the bagel bits that have fallen onto his knees.

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
im in makeup for a weird  
photoshoot for some korean  
clothing brand and they just   
put loads of silver goo in  
my hair to make it chromey

As Dan is reading the message, searching between the lines for a reason Phil might be telling him this information, another text pings through.

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
whoops, i kinda meant to  
send that to PJ. but hey,   
if you’re interested, here’s  
a pic of me with ‘Kpop Idol  
Silver Hair Paste’ in lol xx

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
[image]

The phone slips from Dan’s fingers, clattering through his legs to the floor of the staff room. Phil has sent him a selfie. An un-edited, un-Instagrammed photo of his breathtaking face, up close. Sure, there’s a weird silvery goop in his usually raven hair, but still. Gingerly, Dan retrieves the phone, a small, strangled sound escaping from his throat as he surveys the image in front of him.

It makes a little more sense now that Phil has informed him that he had actually mistakenly texted the original message, but did the guy really have to follow up with a photo? He must, surely, be aware of Dan’s crush. He witnessed the brunt of Dan’s obsessive stalking in person on his phone, after all.

Bagel entirely forgotten, Dan just stares down into the pixelated blue of Phil Lester’s eyes, wondering how to respond, and if he even should. Deciding eventually that it would be rude not to, Dan shakily types out something he hopes is vaguely witty.

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
hahaha wow :’) kpop?  
more like kpoop. (it   
looks like bird poop,  
sorry dude.) x

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
hahaha it does ur so  
right. and if you think  
thats bad you should   
see the outfits… xx

Settling back into his chair, Dan bites his lip. As he thinks of a potential response, his eyes wander over to the spot, just to the right of him, where he and Phil had stood not long ago, when it had seemed like maybe, possibly, Phil might’ve…

But obviously that’s absurd. 

Dan’s wishful thinking had clearly driven him to the point of hallucination, because the very notion that Phil Lester, AmazingPhil, the famous Instagram model, would ever have looked at Dan as anything more than a random bartender, is laughable.

Dan sighs to himself, then smirks. Well, just because he has no chance, doesn’t mean he can’t utilise his semi-connection to the celebrity to get some behind-the-scenes footage of his fave.

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
well now i have to see x

There’s a noticeable pause, and Dan wonders, panicking vaguely, if he may have pushed too far. Is it a little much to ask this of Phil? Maybe he just won’t respond, and Dan will have to quit his job forever, or maybe just spend his shifts on red alert that Phil will wander into the bar, and hide from him if he does-

He texts back.

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
[image]

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
hot, right? xx

For two long, uninterrupted minutes, Dan is frozen. Then, he lets out a muffled groan of frustration. The photo Phil sent is a full body shot taken by someone else; he’s dressed in an asymmetrical long white t-shirt with several long rips through the chest, some bright pink camouflage trousers, and a shiny silver puffer jacket with a black fur-lined hood. The outfit is a complete disaster, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest. His chest is visible through the slits in the tee; having seen it twice now IRL, Dan is drawn to the slivers he can see. The trousers make his eyes pop, and the jacket matches the silver streaked through his hair.

His pose is casual, feet apart, smirking at the camera, with his hands gesturing to his body as if to say ‘see what i mean?’. If he’d posted this on his Instagram, Dan gets the feeling he’d have saved it to his camera roll anyway, maybe even made it his phone background.

Dan’s done that with a few of his favourite photos of Phil in the past. He won’t even dwell on the time when Phil posted a photo of himself in the bath and Dan, in a semi-sleep-deprived fit of insanity, printed the photo out and stuck it on his wall.

Tyler came over once, weeks later, saw the photo taped above Dan’s bed, and tore the thing down. He’d told Dan, quite rightly, to stop being such a creep and keep his crazed obsessive behaviour to social media like everyone else.

_“Who even has physical photos these days?? You’re like a fucking serial killer!”_

Dan chuckles at this memory. He’s glad for Tyler, sometimes, even if he’s only good for keeping Dan’s stalkerish behaviour within the realms of normalcy.

Belatedly, he realises it’s been over five minutes and he still hasn’t responded to Phil. Also, his break is close to being over.

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
woww. please, phil of  
the future, tell me what  
life is like in 2087 x

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
stawwp. i keep laughing   
out loud at what ur   
saying and now the   
designer is sending me   
death glares :’’’D xx

Trying hard to ignore the fact that his dorky jokes are apparently literally making Phil ‘lol’, Dan checks the time, and sighs, typing out another message.

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
is the designer a martian? or  
maybe secretly one of those  
reptile-people? maybe skin  
him just to be safe. also my  
break is over so i gtg. have  
fun on set of NASA’s   
moonlanding recreation x

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
aww ur at work too? that sux.   
i forgot that u work at night  
lol. hope u stay dry this evening  
;) xx

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
speaking of… why are u at  
work? isnt it kind of late for   
a photoshoot? x

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
well its 8am here so no haha xx

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
where are you? x

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
seoul :) hence the… unusual  
fashion lol xx

Dan’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He stands from his chair, throws his half eaten bagel in the trash, and looks around himself. He’s in the staff room - a small, dusty space with a row of falling apart lockers, a couple of chairs and a small table. There’s a hook on the wall which holds a load of unused aprons, and a rusty heater for when it’s especially cold.

He’s about to go back out to serve a load of rowdy customers some overpriced cocktails, then mop a dancefloor sticky with sweat, alcohol, and whatever other liquids might have found their way there. Then, he’s going to go back to his crummy flat way across in Kemptown, unfold his sofabed, and fall asleep to Netflix.

Phil, on the other side of the world in Korea, is having his hair, makeup and wardrobe done by professionals. He’s being treated like a celebrity, no doubt, and pampered excessively. Later, he’ll receive high-definition, professional photographs of himself looking gorgeous, and post them to his Instagram, where millions of people will tell him how stunning he looks.

Dan sighs to himself. How the other half lives.

*

The following day, Dan wakes up to find that Phil has updated his Instagram story, and posted the photo with the silver goo in his hair. The same one he’d sent to Dan. The caption reads:

_Not sure silver hair was a good idea! The designer was going for Kpop, but ended up with Kpoop… can’t wait to show you guys the photos from this shoot! xx_

Two things cross Dan’s mind.

First, Dan can now officially state that he had a sneak-peek at an official AmazingPhil photo before it was posted.

Second, the bitch totally stole his joke.

He smiles to himself ruefully, then decides to leave a comment. There’s no way that Phil will even see it - he’s never seen any of Dan’s others, or at least Dan sincerely hopes he hasn’t, as they’re mostly things like ‘choke me’ or ‘slap me round the face with your yaoi hands dad’.

Okay, maybe he tends to leave those sorts of comments when he’s less than sober.

This time, Dan just taps out a simple:

_danisnotonfire: joke stealing is a low form of theft phil smh ;)_

Still smiling to himself, Dan rolls over onto his side, and settles in to watch Phil’s story. The stories are usually long, silly, and full of adorable clips of Phil being clumsy and cute. As expected, this one is no exception. It’s a tour of Phil’s hotel room in Seoul, which is very posh.

Phil exclaims over the origami hand towels on his bed, the robe provided for him in the wardrobe, and the multiple options on the ‘disco shower’ as he calls it. Just as Dan is marvelling at the panoramic shot Phil has filmed of his view from the balcony, a notification pings at the top of his screen.

_amazingphil replied to your comment: joke stealing is…_

Dan sits bolt upright in bed, the sheets falling off him. He runs a hand through his messy hair, eyes wide. He clicks the notification before it disappears, heart pounding.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Dan hadn’t intended for him to actually  _see_. What if Phil thinks he’s being rude? He doesn’t actually mind Phil stealing his stupid joke about the hair goo. It’s an honour, if anything, that Phil finds his dumb joke good enough to post as a caption millions of people will read.

Heart thrumming, Dan finds the response Phil left.

_danisnotonfire: joke stealing is a low form of theft phil smh ;)_

> _amazingphil: @danisnotonfire aha i was kinda hoping you wouldn’t see ;D_

 

Another notification pings at the top of his screen.

_amazingphil started following you_

“Holy shit,” Dan says to nobody.

_amazingphil liked your photo_

“Fuck,” Dan squeaks, clutching his pillow for support. “Stop it Phil, I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

Curious, Dan clicks the last notification, wondering which photo it was that Phil pressed the little heart for. To his surprise, it’s a selfie, one he took at work around a month ago. He took it during a lull between serving, if he remembers correctly. The lighting hadn’t been awful when he was doing his hourly fringe check in his phone camera, so he’d snapped a pic. It’s nothing special, just a moody expression and a wash of pink lighting across one half of his face.

_amazingphil commented on your photo_

_amazingphil: nice pout ;) xx_

Dan falls back into the pillows, mind obliterating itself into a thousand, tiny pieces.

*

Over the next few weeks, Dan has several text conversations with Phil. They’re usually started by Phil himself, who will - out of what Dan assumes is boredom - sometimes send him a random meme, a musing about his surroundings, or a selfie. For obvious reasons, Dan prefers the latter.

No matter how many times Phil reaches out via text, the surreality of it never fails to send Dan’s mind freewheeling. It always knocks the wind out of his lungs, it always makes him stop dead in his tracks, and it always leaves him struggling to recover for the next few hours. Whenever this happens at work, Tyler never fails to tease him mercilessly.

“Whoops! Please excuse him, sir, his mind has been blended by a single text from his crush,” Tyler tells a customer the fifth time Dan drops a glass behind the bar.

Dan scowls at his friend, but doesn’t try to defend himself. It’s true, after all. One text from Phil has him behaving like a moron. He becomes physically inept, unable to make the simplest drink.

One night, after the bar has closed, Dan and Tyler are cleaning up.

“So when’s he gonna stop torturing you over text and come sweep you off your beer-drenched tootsies?”

Dan rolls his eyes at this. “He’s not, Ty. He’s a rich and famous superstar, and I’m clearing up puke for the third day in a row.”

Dan wrinkles his nose as he continues mopping up the patch of vomit. He’s suspicious at this point; three days in a row is unusual. Is the same person coming in each night and spewing their guts all over the dance floor out of spite? Perhaps it’s some sort of hate crime.

“It’s like a Cinderella story!” Ty exclaims, pirouetting around his broom. “Except it’s gay, which makes it even better.”

Dan scoffs at him. “I’m pretty sure fairytales don’t involve stalking someone over social media and having them find out. He’s just taking pity on me because he saw that first night that I’m a fan.” Dan dunks the mop back in the bucket, turning to Tyler. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he has a boyfriend.”

Tyler sucks in a scandalised breath. “What! Who?”

Dragging the mop back to the supply closet, Dan laughs. “Remember the drunk guy he came with? The one who gave me a lovely Rainforest shower?”

“ _Him_?”

Dan sighs, locks the cupboard, and nods. He digs into his pocket for his phone, and brings it over to show Tyler the photo of Phil and Charlie kissing. Matt, the security guard wanders over to see as well, letting out a low whistle.

“He’s a nonce if he thinks that guy’s behaviour was attractive,” Matt says. “He puked ‘soon as I got him out the door that night. All over the pavement.”

Dan looks at Matt, tilting his head in interest. “He did?”

Tyler plucks the phone out of Dan’s hand, zooming into the photo to have a better look, a frown on his face.

“Yep, your friend there came out, called him an Uber and sent him off,” Matt says. “Doubt pukey there would’ve made it home without him.”

“Nice guy,” Dan mutters, cheeks warm.

“This is staged,” Tyler announces abruptly.

“What?”

“Look,” he says, bringing the phone back over for Dan to see.

He zooms in on the crux of the kiss, right onto Phil’s face. Dan grimaces.

“Ty, I don’t want to see-”

“Shut up and look at his face,” Tyler interrupts, grabbing Dan’s chin and angling it towards the phone. “See how his lips are puckered? All stiff and pointed, like he’s kissing his grandma. And his eyes are open.”

“He’s looking at the camera!”

“Nah, Tyler’s right mate,” Matt says. The gum he’s chewing is making gross squishy sounds right in Dan’s ear as he leans over to look. “He looks awkward as hell.”

Dan narrows his eyes at the photo, trying to see what the others see.

“Besides, didn’t you say he hated that guy?” Tyler asks, clicking off the photo.

Dan tuts, snatching his phone back. “Well, apparently he was just being nice to compensate for the fact his kissing buddy covered me in sugary cocktail.”

He makes the smart decision to step away from this preposterous conversation before he does something stupid. Like allow either of these morons to give him hope that Phil is actually single.

Not that Phil being single would even matter.

“Or he was making it clear that he’s available!” Tyler calls after him as Dan stalks over to the staff room. “He whipped his shirt off for you twice and gave you his number. Do you think he’d do that if he had a boyfriend?”

“Drop it, Ty!” Dan calls back, shutting the staff room door behind him.

He will not let himself fall into the trap of daring to believe he could get someone as gorgeous, as hilarious, as pure and… amazing, as Phil Lester. 

He won’t.

*

This is a good philosophy, in theory.

In practise, it turns out to be a lot more difficult. Dan finds this out to his cost when Phil strolls into  _Habenero_  the following Friday with Charlie Hickory at his side. Dan’s stomach sinks as soon as he sees the pair, the butterflies that appear each time Phil so much as acknowledges exploding into dust the moment he registers who Phil is here with.

Phil makes a beeline for the bar, a big smile on his face as he sees Dan. Warily, Dan smiles back, very aware that he is not exactly Charlie’s biggest fan.

“Dan!” Phil sings, chipper as ever.

Blushing already, Dan waves an awkward hand. He will never, he’s sure, get used to hearing his name on Phil Lester’s lips. “Hi. You’re back.”

“Of course! This is my local hangout now,” Phil says, winking. “Great cocktails, cute bar staff, crazy Bingo nights… this place has got it all.”

“Some people might not agree with you about the cocktails,” Dan can’t help himself saying, glancing at Charlie.

Charlie shuffles awkwardly on the spot. “Right,” he says, casting a look at Phil. They share a look that seems loaded with something Dan is not privy to, and then Charlie sighs, turning to Dan. “I wanted to, uh, apologise. About last time. Totally not cool of me to… tell you off like that. I was wasted.”

For an awkward moment, Dan waits for the actual word ‘sorry’ to leave Charlie’s mouth. It becomes obvious fairly swiftly that the dude feels he’s already said enough, so Dan just gives him a tight smile, and clears his throat.

“Oh, yeah man,” he says. “Let’s just… move on, I guess.”

If Charlie won’t say sorry, then Dan’s sure as hell not going to say he forgives him.

“So, drinks?” Phil asks, seeming to sense the taut atmosphere. “Maybe not cocktails?”

Dan can’t help the splutter of laughter, but Charlie shoots a dagger-like glare Phil’s way. It makes Dan’s lip curl; how could anyone be angry with Phil, of all people?

“Maybe some beers?” Dan suggests, teeth clenched. “We have a load of craft beers, or if you’re more into spirits I could make you guys a-”

“I’ll have a vodka and light tonic, no ice,” Charlie interrupts. “A double. If you use regular tonic, I  _will_  know.”

“Charlie,” Phil hisses under his breath.

They exchange another loaded look, and again Charlie sighs, turning to Dan with a fake smile. “Please.”

Swallowing the urge to roll his eyes, Dan nods, then gladly turns his attention to Phil. “And for you?”

“Oh,” Phil says, like it’s only just occurred to him that he needs to order as well. “God, I’m so bad at deciding, err…”

As he’s dithering, Charlie sighs. “Are you cool to get these, Phil? I’m gonna go find us a table.”

“You don’t wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood.”

Phil nods, obviously disappointed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll meet you in the back.”

With that, Charlie is gone, slipping into the crowd. The look of distaste must be more evident on Dan’s face than he thinks, because Phil laughs at it.

“I know,” Phil says. “But he does have a few… marginally amiable qualities.”

 _‘Why have you chosen to be with someone that’s marginally amiable when you’re so great,_ ’ is what Dan wants to ask. Instead, he simply shrugs, deciding to change the subject.

“Have you decided on a drink yet? I’d better get on with making his low-cal dishwater.”

Phil laughs a little, then leans forwards, his smile deepening as he leans across the bar. “Surprise me.”

Something sparks a roman candle in Dan’s stomach, and his skin prickles with the heat it creates. He drags his eyes free of Phil’s with some difficulty, nodding, and turns to make the drinks.

He prepares Phil a ‘PopQueen’ cocktail, which is one of their most popular. It’s inspired by popcorn, along with the trio of Pop Queens that rule the gay music scene: Gaga, RiRi, and Bey. The moscato vodka base is made from Italian grapes to represent Gaga’s heritage, the spiced rum is a shoutout to Bey’s favourite drink, and Riri comes in in the form of a smoky splash of passion fruit bitter. The rest is topped up with popcorn syrup, lemonade, a sprinkle of caramel popcorn kernels, and as many sparkly cocktail sticks as Dan can fit in.

He explains the whole concoction to Phil as he presents it, a little smug because he knows this is an impressive looking cocktail. It’s probably his favourite one to make; the Viniq shimmery moscato vodka makes the drink swirl and shimmer - always exceptionally pretty.

Sure enough, Phil’s mouth drops open at the sight of it. “Okay wow,” Phil says, chuckling. “I’m gonna get drunk tonight, aren’t I?”

“If that’s your plan, this should definitely help you on your way,” Dan says, laughing too. “I wouldn’t recommend having a second if you want to remember your evening.”

Phil leans forwards to take a sip of the PopQueen, moaning around the straw, much to Dan’s dismay. He plucks one of the popcorn pieces off and eats it, eyes closed. In related news, Dan struggles not to fall to the floor. “Dan, you are an artiste,” Phil says. “Popcorn is my all time favourite food.”

“Oh, wow, that’s... lucky, I guess,” Dan stammers, a swell of pride surging up into his chest. “Glad you like it.”

“So, how much?”

“Oh, on the house.” Dan smiles, sliding the cocktail across the bar along with Charlie’s vodka tonic. “I feel bad for not letting you in on the forfeit for Bingo last time.”

The look on Phil’s face softens into something so sweet Dan can taste sugar on his tongue. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Phil says softly.

“It’s fine, really,” Dan assures him, all but sliding his elbows across the bar towards him. “I insist.”

A twitch in the corner of Phil’s mouth, and then he’s leaning across the bar. It happens slowly, but Dan still manages to be caught off guard. One moment, he’s watching, bemused, as Phil inches towards him, and the next there’s a light press of paper-soft lips to his cheek. A scratch of stubble grazes over Dan’s skin as Phil leans away.

“Thanks,” Phil tells him, smiling. “You’re sweet, Dan.”

And then he’s turning away, drinks in hand, slipping into the mass of people.

*

For the next few hours, Dan hopes for Phil to return to the bar for another round. He waits, eagerly, for this moment to come. Instead, Charlie is the one who brings his and Phil’s glasses back over, and waves to flag down Dan’s attention.

He nods in acknowledgement, finishing up the drinks order he’s in the middle of, and sidling over to Charlie. He forces a strained smile.

“Same again?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, digging out his phone. “And a couple of vodka shots.”

He says nothing else, eyes glued to his phone screen. Dan waits for a moment before moving off, eyes stuck to Charlie’s face. He’s the kind of gorgeous that shouldn’t exist in real life. Unblemished, tanned skin. Clean, dark stubble, lacing his perfect, razorblade jawline. His hair is a swoop of glossy mahogany; even the cut of it looks expensive.

Charlie’s eyes flick up to Dan’s, obviously questioning why he’s staring, so Dan nods, embarrassed, and hurries to make the drinks. From a superficial standpoint, it’s obvious why Phil is with Charlie. Obviously, in Dan’s eyes, Phil is the most attractive man on the planet, but that’s just because he’s Dan’s type. Even he can tell that Charlie is objectively a beautiful human being.

It’s just a shame about everything below the surface level.

Dan pours the two shots Charlie ordered. “All together it’s twenty pounds, please.”

Charlie snorts, then pockets his phone at last. “Figures you’d give Phil the discount.”

He pulls out a twenty and slaps it on the counter.

“Sorry, I can’t give you guys free drinks all night.”

Charlie just stares back at him, a faint, knowing smile caught on his dusty pink lips. One of this thick eyebrows is slightly quirked, sliding an irritation under Dan’s skin. “Listen, Danny, is it?”

“Dan,” he grits.

“Dan,” Charlie says, leaning across the bar. “A little advice, yeah? Don’t be so transparent. It just comes across as pathetic.”

He downs both the shots in quick succession, baffling Dan, who is frozen, mortified, to the spot. Before his brain can thaw enough to stammer out some witty rebuttal, Charlie has swept the drinks off the counter, and is moving away.

Cheeks burning, Dan turns around, trying to calm his boiling blood. He squeezes his fists together, counting to ten, the way he makes himself after all encounters with dickhead customers.

“Hey, sweetcheeks, can we get some drinks over here, please?”

With a deep sigh, Dan unclenches his fists, and turns to the next customer.

*

At around one in the morning, Dan runs to the bathroom for a minute, and on his way, he sees Charlie. He’s against the wall of the club, near the DJ booth. There’s a muscular, dark-skinned man pressing him there; their faces are close. Dan can’t stop, he’s left Tyler and Dodie to the mercy of the drunks in their worst state - things get rowdy an hour before closing - and he needs to get back there. So, instead, he simply tucks the image away in his mind, to think about later on.

That man, leant against Charlie in a less-than-innocent seeming stance, was certainly not Phil, after all. As he exits the bathroom, he notices that Charlie is gone, as is whoever was with him.

*

At 1:55am, the lights come on. As usual, an enormous groan chants out of the crowd of patrons on the dance floor, followed by a few pairs awkwardly stepping out of the shadows, some squinting and eye-covering, and the slow, jelly-legged walk to the coat-check area.

“I think I just saw some guy getting up off his knees in the corner,” Tyler says despondently. “Shotgun not mopping the floor tonight.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Dan sighs. “On the dance floor? Really? Why can’t they suck each other off in the bathroom like normal people?”

“Oh, there were definitely people doing that in one of the stalls about an hour ago,” someone says to Dan’s right. The voice, for some reason, sends the hairs up on the back of Dan’s neck.

He turns, wondering when Matt’s voice got so low, only to find that Phil has perched himself on one of the bar stools, the dregs of his cocktail still in a glass in front of him. For a moment, Dan is too stunned at the sight of him to reply. Then, he registers that the lights are on, and cringes, knowing he likely looks frightful. Phil, of course, looks radiant as ever even under the harsh fluorescents, apart from a faint tiredness, visible in the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“You’re still here,” Dan comments. “I thought you guys had gone.”

“Charlie left,” Phil says, looking away from Dan. “Or I assume he did.”

Out of sight, Tyler catches Dan’s eye, making an obscene gesture with his hands before snickering and running off in the direction of the supply closet. Dan just glares after him, pink-cheeked, and turns back to Phil.

“Wait, he left without telling you?”

One of Phil’s shoulders moves towards his neck, then falls. “He does that.”

“Wow that’s… kind of shitty.”

As soon as the words are out, Dan regrets them. He can’t help but think of Charlie’s comment from earlier; it rings in his ears as if the guy had screamed it at him.

_Don’t be so transparent. It just comes across as pathetic._

He was right, probably, though Dan had hated hearing it. He should stop being such a suck-up. It must be awkward and cringey for Phil to see Dan so obviously smitten.

Still, Phil throws him a faint smile. “It’s cool. He’s just a flaky guy. A bit of a princess. He grew up rich, so he’s always been a bit superficial. I’m trying to wring the bourgeoisie out of his blue blood.”

Dan snorts with laughter. “In my experience, you can’t filter the dickishness out of people very easily.”

There’s a silence, then. Phil regards him with a faintly curious expression.

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Dan says once the silence gets too uncomfortable. He shrugs, grabbing the rag from his back pocket and starting to wipe down the bar. “I don’t know the guy, really. I’ve just had a couple of unfortunate experiences with him.”

“Oh no,” Phil says, face falling. “What did he do this time?”

Dan laughs, bitterly. “Don’t worry about it. He’s just a little mouthy, is all.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“So, when do you get to leave this place?” Phil asks, playing with his glass. He still hasn’t drunk the remainder of his cocktail. “Or do you sleep here?”

“On weekdays, the bar closes at two, so I get out of here at around two-thirty.”

“Christ,” Phil mutters. “And I thought my job was long hours.”

A laugh bursts out of Dan’s throat, but he covers it as best he can with a cough, turning away. Busying himself with ‘dusting’ some liquor bottles, Dan tries to compose a straight face. Is Phil honestly going to try and argue that  _his_  job is difficult? When was the last time that guy ever grabbed a broom, or handled someone’s sticky change?

In a minute, Dan is going to go into the corner of the dance floor, get down on his knees, and clean up some randomer’s  _come_. A few weeks ago he saw Phil swanning about a five-star hotel in Korea. If AmazingPhil’s worst complaint is that he had to have a few questionable outfit choices put on him, and some silvery goo in his hair, then he needs a reality check.

Nevertheless, Dan knows that he can’t say any of this. Not only would he never dream of insulting Phil Lester, but it’s pointless to try and explain the differences between classes to someone in a privileged position. They’ve usually forgotten how to understand.

“Are you close by, at least?” Phil asks, interrupting Dan’s thoughts.

Dan turns back to him. “Kemptown. It’s half an hour’s walk, more or less.”

“You walk?” Phil asks, eyebrows skyrocketing towards his quiff. “At two in the morning?”

“Five in the morning on weekends,” Dan confirms, hiding a smile at Phil’s surprise. “It’s okay, you get used to it. Besides, it’s mostly just drunk idiots chugging cans of cider and threatening to run into the sea. Not too scary.”

Despite Dan’s reassurance, the look of pity and concern on Phil’s face doesn’t subside. After a while, Dan turns from it, feeling awkward. He busies himself with clearing away the last of the empty glasses, yawning into the crook of his elbow. Tonight was rough.

“You should crash at mine,” Phil blurts.

Sure he must have misheard, Dan faces Phil slowly. “Um, what?”

“If you’re exhausted, I mean.” Phil fidgets, fingers tapping against his glass. “Like, on the nights you can’t face walking all the way home, you can totally just sleep on my sofa.”

Speechless, Dan simply stares.

“The couch is pretty comfy,” Phil continues in a ramble, not meeting Dan’s eye. “And my flat is just up the road, literally like a minute away. I’m not saying, y’know, come over every night, ‘cause obviously… that might be an issue, but you can absolutely stay round on, say, Saturday nights when you finish later. That wouldn’t be a problem.”

He’s just being nice. That’s Dan’s only explanation. Phil Lester is a sweetheart of a person, and he got so worried about the hypothetical danger involved in Dan’s walks home, that he offered something big, even though he didn’t really mean it.

Dan is a stranger to him. He needs to decline the polite offer, and let Phil off the hook he accidentally created to string himself up on.

So, Dan forces out a small chuckle, and says: “Oh, no, it’s really fine. Thanks for the offer, that’s really good of you, but I quite like the walk. It’s a nice come down after a busy night.”

Phil nods, chewing his lip. He looks unconvinced. “I’m not just saying it, though.” His voice has dropped to a lower tone. “Like tonight… you’re so tired, I can see it. Just grab some sleep at mine before you head back across town.”

As soon as Phil mentions it, the quilt of his own exhaustion flops around his shoulders, dragging Dan’s bones towards the floor. He tries to picture the stumble back to his crummy flat in Kemptown, loathing each imaginary step.

“You barely know me,” Dan says - one last attempt at refusal.

Sensing he’s won, Phil smiles very slightly, then downs the rest of his cocktail at last. “I don’t know if it’s just me, Dan, but I have this feeling that we’re going to be good friends.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late >.<  
> xx

At 10am on Wednesday morning, Dan wakes on AmazingPhil’s sofa. A whirring noise causes him to stir, dragging him out of an unconscious bliss of ignorance to his surroundings.  As he props himself up on his elbows, Dan looks around his immediate vicinity, confused. The rush of realisation is quick to strike him, and his arms jellify; he flops back down onto the cushions with a ‘thwump’.

Eyes wide, Dan pulls the colourful, zig-zag patterned blanket over his bare chest. Last night, removing his shirt had seemed logical. Now, he’s painfully aware of the exposed chest and abdomen on show. He’s seen plenty of photos of Phil topless. The comparison between their muscle definition is laughable.

Dan rolls onto his side, scanning the floor for his shirt. He spots it at once, and lunges, pulling it towards him. As soon as he brings it to his nose, the stench of beer, vodka and sweat overwhelms him. He frowns in revulsion, wondering what to do.

Is it worse to confront Phil fucking Lester first thing in the morning while shirtless, or stinking of a hell-shift? Before Dan can decide, Phil strolls into the room, holding two mugs in his hands.

Phil is also shirtless, Dan notes, to his dismay. At least he’s wearing tracksuit bottoms. 

“You’re awake!” Phil says, smiling at him. He walks over, placing one of the mugs down onto the coffee table. Dan stares at it; it’s Hello Kitty shaped. “Sorry if the coffee machine woke you up. I can’t function in the mornings without caffeine.”

“Oh, n-no, that’s…” Dan swallows, gazing up into Phil’s eyes. He’s wearing his glasses, and his hair is a bird’s nest. There are the faint etchings of paling pink cover creases across one of his cheeks. “Fine,” Dan breathes. 

“I made you a cup,” Phil points out, gesturing to the Hello Kitty mug. “I don’t know how you like it, so I just made it the same as mine, soy milk and two sugars. I hope that’s okay.”

Dan nods, and tries a smile. He doesn’t have sugar in his coffee normally, but he’s hardly going to complain. He should drink it, he thinks, it will probably clear the exhausted fog from his mind.

Phil has moved to sit in the armchair to the right of the sofa. He sips his coffee, legs spread wide as he slumps down into it. He’s gazing intently at his phone. Dan seizes the opportunity, lunging for the Hello Kitty mug while Phil isn’t looking, so that he won’t see the flash of exposed skin peeking out from beneath the quilt.

Dan swallows down a vaguely disgusting gulp. Then another.

“Um, thank you for letting me stay here,” Dan says once he’s sat up a little, the blanket pulled up beneath his armpits. “I must’ve been really tired.”

Phil puts his phone down, smiling over the rim of his cup. “Hey, it’s no problem at all. I just hope it wasn’t too uncomfy on the sofa.”

Dan wants to laugh at that. The sofa is an enormous, deep purple, corner-style affair, with seemingly hundreds of plump, unnecessary cushions, and quite possibly the softest springs Dan has ever encountered. It’s so big that Dan, at six foot, can stretch out fully with room to spare.

He directs his smirk into Hello Kitty’s hollow head. “Not at all,” he says politely.

“So, what can I get you?” Phil asks brightly, sitting up in his chair. “Breakfast? Clean clothes? A shower?”

Dan has to admit, the lure of being clean is tempting. Not to mention the chance to sneak a peek at more of Phil’s flat.

“A shower would be amazing,” Dan says, wincing a little; he hates feeling like a burden.

“They do call me AmazingPhil for a reason.”

Dan laughs. “I thought you nicknamed yourself that because you wanted to be first in the alphabet for everything.”

The comment slips out before Dan can think it through. It’s an instinctual reflex, to reel off his AmazingPhil knowledge to anyone that will listen to him ramble on about the guy. In hindsight, Phil himself is probably not the person to ramble to. 

A silence hangs in the air for a minute, during which time Dan tries to persuade any entity listening to allow the enormous sofa to swallow him up whole. Then, Phil laughs, a little awkwardly.

“Yeah, but I’m still amazing,” he says, and Dan relaxes, a little. “The shower’s down the hall, I’ll show you.”

Phil drains his coffee and jumps to his feet. He looks at Dan expectantly, and Dan realises he’s going to have to emerge, shirtless, from beneath the blanket, in order to follow him. Cringing already, Dan opts for a slow reveal, looking steadfastly away from Phil, cheeks burning. He stands, arms crossed over his chest, and waits for Phil to lead the way.

As Dan follows him through the flat, Phil chatters about something Dan can barely listen to, insecurity overwhelming him completely. He stops outside a door and pushes it open, then turns to Dan.

“Just use anything in there,” Phil tells him. “Towels, shampoo, shower gel. Maybe not the toothbrush?” Phil laughs. “But then again I’ll probably never know if you did.”

He winks, sending Dan’s stomach crashing to the floor, and then leaves Dan to it. Unsurprisingly, Phil’s shower is one of those alien spacecraft types, with a touch screen panel to operate it, different pressure settings, and a built in radio. Dan accidentally turns the radio on as he’s attempting to figure it out, and Phil’s Spotify playlist ‘Shower Time’ comes on. The first song is ‘My Heart Will Go On’. Dan laughs at this, manages to switch it off, and eventually gets the shower to a relatively normal temperature.

Phil’s shampoo is melon flavoured, and his body wash is something called ‘s’mores ‘n’ mores’. Dan’s not used to smelling so sweet, but he appreciates the pleasant, syrupy aromas as he massages the various substances into his skin and hair. As he’s scrubbing himself, his mind wanders, and the thought drifts into his brain that he’s currently standing in the same spot Phil does every morning. Every day, Phil Lester steps into this very shower cubicle, naked as Dan stands now, and rubs the same gels across his body.

Dan quickly loses concentration, and slips, yelping as he struggles not to fall on his bare ass. He manages to stay upright by clinging onto the faucet. As he regains his balance, there’s a knock on the door.

“Uh, are you okay, Dan?”

Flushing, Dan pokes his head out of the cubicle. “Y-yeah, I’m fine! Sorry, I slipped.”

There’s an unmistakable chuckle. “Okay. I thought I’d throw your clothes in the wash if you want? You can borrow something of mine in the meantime.”

Dan chews his lip, deliberating. While he really doesn’t want to go through the whole debacle of borrowing more clothes from Phil, it’s a mildly horrifying thought to step out of the shower and pull on his smelly, damp work shirt.

He resolves that this will be the very last time. “That’d be great actually, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Phil says cheerily, and then, somehow, the bathroom door is opening.

Dan squeaks, ducking back into the cubicle. The glass is opaque with steam, but Dan can’t help feeling ridiculously exposed nonetheless. He can hear Phil walking across the tiled bathroom floor, humming away as if it’s perfectly normal.

“I’ll just grab them,” Phil is saying. Dan just presses himself against the one wall that isn’t glass, watching Phil’s blurry outline move through the room towards the sink where Dan’s clothes are. “I’ve left you a t-shirt and some jogging bottoms on the side.”

“Thanks,” Dan says meekly, heart hammering.

Just before he leaves, Phil seems to pause. “It smells really good in here.”

“Yeah,” Dan says. The thunder of the shower against the floor is deafening. “You’ve got good taste in shampoo.”

There’s another pause, and then Phil is moving closer to the glass. Dan wants to hide, to curl up away from him; Phil almost definitely can’t see any defining features of Dan’s body, but still, it’s mortifying to think that Phil Lester, the literal model, might be able to see any of his unshapely, naked form. A hand, or what looks like a hand, reaches out towards the glass.

Rivulets of water trickling over his stricken face, Dan watches as Phil’s finger trails through the condensation, drawing a smiley face.

“There’s more coffee when you’re done,” Phil says softly, and then he’s gone, closing the door behind him.

*

Dressed in Phil’s clothes, sitting on Phil’s sofa, drinking Phil’s coffee. Perhaps he never woke up, Dan can’t help but think.

“...but that’s my mum for you, she’s obsessed with RuPaul’s Drag Race,” Phil finishes. Dan’s only half-listening, distracted as he is by the way the Sunnydale High t-shirt Phil gave him clings to his damp skin.

He’s seen Phil wearing this t-shirt in various photos in the past. It’s always looked slightly too small for him, the sleeves straining around his thick arm muscles, the hem riding just a smidge too high on his abdomen. It hangs loose over Dan’s concave stomach, and his poor excuse for a chest. His arms thread like noodles through the same sleeves.

“She really tried to get you to audition?”

Phil laughs, his signature tongue-poke laugh. “Yeah, I’m not sure she really gets the concept of the show… but she loves it anyway.”

“It’s cute that she’s supportive,” Dan says. Phil laughs, nodding.

“She means well.” Phil sighs, draining the last of his coffee. “Another cup?”

Dan nods, though he knows he should refuse. Phil stands from the sofa, and for some reason Dan stands too, following Phil towards the kitchen at one end of the spacious, open plan room.  As they walk, Dan takes the opportunity to peer around at his surroundings. Phil’s flat is gorgeous, with lots of wide spaces and natural light, though it’s sparsely decorated. There are still boxes of stuff laying around, as he has only been here for a couple of months. Inside them, Dan spots a variety of colourful decorations, some of which he recognises from Phil’s old place; he used to film Instagram stories in his last flat a lot, so Dan can easily pick out the Tetris lamp Phil used to have on his mantelpiece, and the framed Studio Ghibli posters he had mounted on his bedroom walls.

As Phil pours them more coffee, Dan leans against the breakfast bar, watching him. It’s only as Phil places a second mug before him that Dan remembers something.

He steps backwards before he can stop himself, cheeks flaming. At first, Phil seems surprised, but his expression quickly melts into a smirk. He leans casually against the breakfast bar, sipping coffee with an amused expression.

“Everything ok?”

Fighting the urge to splutter and embarrass himself further, Dan just shrugs his shoulders. “Thought I recognised this spot,” he mutters.

A couple of weeks ago, Phil had posted a particularly risqué photo. Dan remembers it well, for obvious reasons, as Phil had been completely naked. He’d covered the more intimate parts of his body with artfully arranged bed sheets, but it had been a memorable image nonetheless. In the photo, Phil had been sprawled out on a breakfast bar, his chest covered with berries and other fruits, as well as an array of croissants, cornflakes, and other breakfast foods. The caption, if Dan remembers correctly, had been:  _‘I’ll even make you breakfast after…_ ’.

In the hours after receiving that notification, Dan had found himself rather… occupied.

“I promise I’ve cleaned it since,” Phil says knowingly, a glimmer in his eye. 

Dan just avoids his gaze, cheeks burning. 

“Who took the photo?” Dan reaches for his coffee with shaky fingers, careful not to touch the surface of the marble top lest he combust on the spot.

Phil is quiet for a moment, taking another sip. “Charlie.”

Dan forces himself not to grimace at the news. “Oh.”

“We often take each other’s photos if we hang out,” Phil says, shrugging. “We have to post things about three times a day, more or less. So, we hang out, and snap each other doing some random stuff. It’s just easier to have someone else do it for you, especially if they know your angles.”

Dan nods, pretending to understand. In reality, he doesn’t quite see how having Charlie there to take photos as they ‘hang out’ equates to Phil posing stark naked on a countertop covered in delicious food. Maybe he’s missing something, but to him, that seems a little different to simply ‘hanging out’.

“Y’know, I should… probably get going soon,” Dan says, feeling very awkward all of a sudden.

The image of Phil, reclining on this very surface, has suddenly become tainted somehow. He kind of wishes he’d never asked who took the photo.

Bizarrely, Phil’s face drops into one of sincere disappointment at Dan’s news. “Really? But your clothes aren’t dry yet.”

“Right,” Dan says, fidgeting. “Um…”

He’s not sure what to do. He feels he’s overstayed his welcome already, but he doesn’t want to run off in Phil’s clothes again.

“Do you have work later?”

“No,” Dan admits. “It’s my day off, actually.”

“So stay!” Phil beams. “I mean… you don’t have to,” he laughs, seeming awkward. “I don’t want to keep you prisoner. But I have Mario Kart, and DVD’s,  and nothing to do all day… we can order pizza and hang out? At least until your clothes are ready.” Phil twirls the cup in his hands. “Y’know, if you want.”

There’s a tug in Dan’s chest, and he almost groans. Life is tempting him, cruelly. He looks around himself, trying to decide. The bare walls and unpacked items suddenly seem a little sad. He wonders if, since moving down to the coast from Manchester, Phil has had the chance to make any friends.

“Sure,” Dan blurts, his heart pushing the words from his mouth before his brain can regulate them. “But uh… I will wreck you at Mario Kart. Just a warning.”

“Oh, really?” Phil smirks, leaning towards Dan across the breakfast bar. His bicep muscles flex, subtly, throwing the image of him sprawled, naked and seductive, right here, back into Dan’s exhausted brain. “Well, I guess we’ll have to see about that.”

*

Dan ends up staying all day. He stresses that he doesn’t want to impose on Phil, but if anything Phil seems keen for Dan to remain right where he is, so he does. They order Dominos, they drink copious amounts of Ribena, and Dan, as promised, destroys Phil over and over again at Mario Kart.

At six in the evening, Phil finally admits defeat. “Okay, okay, I submit! I throw my flag down at your feet, Dan. You are the King of Mario Kart.”

“Damn straight.”

“I hope not.”

Dan looks at Phil, blushing faintly. “What?”

“Wouldn’t be great to work at a gay bar if you’re weren’t gay, I imagine,” Phil explains, winking. He stands from the pile of cushions they’d placed on the floor next to his sofa, gathering the pizza boxes.

“Oh.” Dan nods to himself. “Right, yeah, I guess that’d be pretty sucky.”

Phil shoots him a dazzling smile, then takes all the boxes to the kitchen. “So how’d you get so good at Mario Kart?”

Dan opens his mouth, about to explain that it’s simply a matter of holing oneself up in one’s room and playing the game for hours at a time, without breaks, until one’s eyes are bleeding, and one’s butt has lost all feeling.

Before he can get these words out however, the buzzer sounds. Phil’s face instantly drops, and he throws a vaguely worried frown towards it.

He looks over at Dan, apologetic. “Hang on.”

Dan just smiles, sipping Ribena. He watches Phil cross the room to the door, where the buzzer is.

“Hello?” Phil says into it.

“It’s me, let me up.”

The voice is indistinct, and Dan can’t quite hear properly. Phil, on the other hand, seems to recognise it at once. He sighs, turning to glance over his shoulder briefly, at Dan.

After a moment, he presses a button, albeit reluctantly. He turns back to Dan, grimacing. “It’s Charlie,” he says. “Sorry. He has a tendency to drop by unannounced.”

“Oh,” Dan says, his heart sinking. He glances down at himself, cheeks growing warm. “Should I… change?”

Phil’s brow creases. “Why would you need to-”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting Phil’s sentence. Phil goes to open it, and Dan tries to brace himself for yet another awkward, probably unpleasant conversation with Charlie Hickory.

“Ugh, it’s fucking pouring out there,” are Charlie’s first words as he pushes past Phil into the flat. “Seventy euros this hair wax cost me in Milan, and it’s ruined by a splash of-”

He stops short, halfway through unwinding the scarf from around his neck. His eyes are fixed on Dan, who has remained, rigid and unmoving, on the floor beside Phil’s sofa, mug in hand.

“Hi,” Dan offers.

“The fuck is he doing here?” Charlie mutters, whipping off his scarf and throwing it onto the couch.

“Charlie, for God’s sake, could you at least pretend to be nice?” Phil asks in an unusually cross voice. 

Charlie rolls his eyes. He flops down onto the sofa, lengthways, and kicks off his shoes. They land beside Dan, nearly knocking into his shoulder. 

“Fine,” Charlie says. “Dan, is it? Hi. What are you doing in Phil’s flat?” Charlie’s eyes narrow, and he sits up, squinting at Dan. “And in his fucking clothes.”

Charlie’s head whips round to face Phil, who is stood, awkwardly, in the middle of the room.

“Did you fuck him?”

“Charlie, for Christ’s sake-”

“No,” Dan says, quickly. “No, he didn’t- we didn’t-” he pauses, trying to gather himself. “I just stayed here. On the sofa. And Phil washed my work clothes. So I’m borrowing his for a bit.”

Charlie settles back down into the sofa cushions. “Figures. Any excuse to whip his top off for a randomer.”

“I was just heading off, actually,” Dan says, deciding he’s had enough. 

“You don’t have to,” Phil pipes up, meekly, though from his awkward stance, it’s clear he thinks it’s probably for the best as well. 

“No, really,” Dan insists. “I need to go home at some point, luxurious as this little one night holiday from reality has been.” 

Phil nods sadly, sending Dan a small smile. Dan stands, wobbling slightly; it’s been a while since he moved from this spot. He makes his way over to Phil, very aware that he’s being watched closely. He hands his half-empty mug back to Phil, returning the smile. 

“Thanks for all the coffee and pizza,” Dan says. “And for letting me stay on your sofa.”

“Anytime,” Phil says, making Charlie mutter something under his breath. “It was really fun. Even though you wiped the floor with me at Mario Kart.”

“Hah, yeah… well, if you ever fancy your luck at a rematch.”

“Might have to hold you to that.”

“So,” Dan says, shifting from foot to foot. Phil just stares at him, obviously not getting why Dan isn’t already moving towards the door. “Um… my clothes?”

“Oh!” Phil exclaims, practically jumping on the spot. “Sorry, I totally forgot. I’ll be right back.”

Dan wants to grab hold of him, to wrap his arms around Phil’s waist and beg him not to leave the room, to leave him alone with the man he possibly would least want to be alone with on the planet, but he doesn’t get a chance. Not that he would ever deem himself worthy of locking his arms around Phil Lester.

Slowly, Dan swivels back towards Charlie, who is regarding him with one eye open, an arm behind his head. Dan scrambles for something to say, but as usual, Charlie gets there first.

“He’s out of your league, you know.”

“Oh, um, I’m not trying to…”

“Not trying to… worm your way into his life? Parade around in front of him in his clothes and make him lust over your non-existent little ass?”

Dan shuts his mouth, already fuming.

“Look, Dan,” Charlie sighs, smirking as his eyes close. “Phil’s the kind of guy who just… can’t say no to a puppy-dog face, y’know? A heart of gold and all that. He’ll crawl down into the gutters to help someone he feels sorry for. But that’s why he needs me, to stop him from lowering himself too far into the muck.”

“How noble of you,” Dan says, voice grating. “Must be hard for you to reach into the gutter for Phil’s hand. Wouldn’t want you to mess up your seventy euro quiff.”

Charlie’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to retort, but at that moment, Phil wanders back in, a pile of clothes in his hands. Fury still coursing through his veins, Dan stalks over to Phil and takes the load from him, too angry to stay here a minute longer. He grabs his shoes and jacket, his quick movements obviously startling Phil, who just watches with wide eyes.

“I’ll bring your clothes back to the bar, Phil,” Dan says through gritted teeth. “Come get them whenever. See you.” 

He yanks open Phil’s door and steps out into the hall, not bothering to put on his shoes and jacket. He slams it shut behind him, marching to the elevator. It’s not until the doors slide shut behind him, sealing him away from the scene, that Dan allows himself to breathe.

*

 **To: Phil  
From: Dan**  
hey. im really sorry for  
storming out tht was so  
rude. i had a great time  
and thanks sm for having  
me. if u decide to talk to  
me ever again, i’ll be at the  
bar. x

Dan hits send before he can think his way out of it, then strips off Phil’s clothes, and crawls into bed. It’s only eight-thirty, but Dan has had enough of today already. There’s something about Charlie. The guy knows exactly how to piss him off.

He reaches for his charger, about to plug his phone in, when it buzzes in his hand. He takes a deep breath before looking, not sure he’s going to like the response.

 **To: Dan  
From: Phil**  
hey dw about it!! im sorry if   
i did something to upset u. or  
if anyone else did something…  
xx

Dan sighs, head flopping back against the pillows. Charlie was right about one thing; Phil truly does have a heart of gold, it would seem. Just then, another text pops through.

 **To: Dan  
From: Phil**  
i had a really great time too!  
i’ll totally be coming in to the   
bar soon :) maybe tomorrow?  
xx

A slice of panic swoops through Dan’s chest; he sits upright.

 **To: Phil  
From: Dan**  
oh, maybe not tomorrow…   
theres an event on every fourth  
thursday x

 **To: Dan  
From: Phil**  
im intrigued… what sort of event?  
more bingo? xx

 **To: Phil  
From: Dan**  
it’s a charity auction x

 **To: Dan  
From: Phil**  
what’s up for auction? xx

 **To: Phil  
From: Dan**  
it’s a ‘servant’ auction. so people  
sign up, then others bid for them  
lol x

 **To: Dan  
From: Phil**  
Sounds fun! I’ll be there xx

Oh, God. Dan chews his lip, trying to picture this. On one hand, Phil is probably open minded enough to enjoy this stupid charity event and all the ridiculousness that goes along with it. On the other, he’ll have to watch Dan auctioning off the scantily clad idiots that sign themselves up for it.

 **To: Phil  
From: Dan**  
haha… ok. just prepare urself. its  
a lot. x

 **To: Dan  
From: Phil**  
i have a question though. xx

 **To: Phil  
From: Dan**  
yes? x

 **To: Dan  
From: Phil**  
where do i sign up? ;) xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, it’s up to you, sailor,” Tyler says. “If you’re bought by a hottie, you can make awkward small talk, or you can let him drag him into a hedge and snog him for the next few hours.”

“You _stayed_ round his _house_?”

 

Dan sips his Starbucks, nodding. “Yup.”

 

He’s been in a daze ever since he left Phil’s yesterday, which he and Tyler are trying to remedy with coffee before work.

 

Tyler’s mouth hangs open in shock. “Like, in his bed?”

 

The next sip of coffee travels down the wrong path in Dan’s throat. He coughs, wincing. “N-no, of course not. I slept on his sofa.”

 

“That’s mental,” Tyler breathes, shaking his head. “I can’t believe he had you over to stay and didn’t try to whip your pants off.”

 

“Of course he didn’t,” Dan mutters crossly. “He’s got a boyfriend, remember?”

 

“Ugh. So you say. Was he there too?”

 

“No,” Dan says, then frowns. “Well, he came over the next day, in the evening.”

 

“You stayed until the _next evening_?”

 

Dan blushes, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well, he was bored and not busy, so…”

 

“Jesus Christ, Dan,” Tyler says, laughing. “And you think this guy isn’t even a little bit into you?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Dan slurps more coffee, and checks his phone. “We’re gonna be late, we should go.”

 

Tyler sighs, slumping back into his chair. “Ugh, do we have to?”

 

“The bar isn’t gonna open itself, Ty.”

 

They stand and start to pile on their jackets and coats. “How many people have signed up for the servant auction tonight by the way?”

 

“Oh, that reminds me.” Dan is already blushing; he grabs his cup and takes a sip, heading for the door with Tyler hot on his heels. “Phil wants to sign up for that.”

 

Tyler stops in his tracks, forcing Dan to turn around. “You’re kidding.”

 

Dan shakes his head. “No, he texted me asking if he could take part.”

 

“Oh my God,” Tyler squeaks. He grabs Dan by the shoulders. “Do you realise how much money we could make if we had AmazingPhil, the gay Instagram model, up for auction?”

 

“Uh, a lot?”

 

“People will go nuts!” Tyler exclaims, a devilish excitement shining in his eyes. “They’ll be throwing their ten thousand pound weaves at him! Are you sure he’ll do it?”

 

“He seemed keen,” Dan says, shrugging.

 

Tyler pulls Dan towards him, then presses an excited kiss to the top of his head. “God bless your twinkish seductive power, Daniel.”

 

“He’s not doing it for me!” Dan protests, allowing Tyler to pull him out of the cafe. “He’s just… bored or something.”

 

“Uh huh,” Tyler side-eyes him as they walk across the road to Habenero. “Think he’d do it if you weren’t working tonight?”

 

Dan decides not to comment, and digs his work keys out of his pocket.

 

*

 

The thing is, Tyler is an unstoppable force of nature once he’s got something in his mind. He takes an idea and sprints with it, ploughing down everything standing in his way. So when he learns that Phil Lester has expressed interest in signing himself up for the servant auction, Tyler spends an hour designing and printing a hundred posters for the event with Phil’s face right in the middle.

 

**HABENERO BAR MONTHLY SERVANT AUCTION!**

**April 5th, 2018!**

**FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY, A STAR CELEB GUEST!** **  
** **COME AND BID FOR AMAZINGPHIL**

**INSTAGRAM LEGEND & LGBT+ ICON**

**[Photo]**

**HE COULD BE YOURS FOR THE NIGHT!**

 

As soon as Tyler hands Dan a stack of these posters, he almost drops them in horror. “Ty! I can’t put these up!”

 

“Why not?” Tyler asks, frowning down at the pile. “Did I make a typo?”

 

“Because we haven’t asked him if this is okay!” Dan points at the photo of Phil. It’s a shirtless one stolen straight from his Instagram. “What the fuck’s he going to think if he walks in here tonight and sees we’re using him for publicity without his permission?”

 

“Aw, come on, those photos are public aren’t they?” Ty says, already tacking some posters up on the walls of the bar. “Besides, it’s not like I’m saying anything that’s not true!”

 

“I’m not putting these up,” Dan reiterates, throwing the stack of papers down on the bar.

 

“Fine,” Tyler says, rolling his eyes. “Dodie! Come here, gorgeous. Got a job for you.”

 

*

 

Phil arrives at nine-forty, twenty minutes before the auction begins. The sight of him slipping through the door is incredibly relieving; for a few hours, Dan had been wondering whether Phil might just have been joking about wanting to come tonight. He’s not alone, but thankfully it isn’t Charlie walking beside Phil as he heads straight for the bar, it’s PJ.

 

Dan smiles warmly at them as they approach, heart fluttering at the sight of the trademark filmstar smile he receives in response.

 

“Hey!” Phil says brightly.

 

Something warm and gooey melts over Dan’s quickening heart. “Hey.” He looks to PJ, nodding in acknowledgment. “Good to see you again, PJ.”

 

“Thanks! This is an awesome bar,” PJ replies. “Though I always feel a little like I’m trespassing.”

 

Dan bats the comment out of the air. “Don’t be silly. We need as many allies as we can get.”

 

“I’ve tried to tell him that you would never discriminate,” Phil says, pushing PJ gently in the shoulder. “Just because he’s tragically heterosexual.”

 

PJ rolls his eyes. “Tragic for you, maybe.”

 

“Yeah! I’ve tried to convert you, but without success. Imagine, Dan,” Phil says, pinching PJ’s chin in his hand and angling it towards him. “I don’t think the gay world could handle this level of prettiness, do you?”

 

PJ swats at Phil, laughing. “Get off me, you dick.”

 

Dan laughs at their easy banter. There’s a pang in his chest at hearing Phil refer to PJ as ‘pretty’; it occurs to him that perhaps Phil is just easy with compliments, and there’s no real significance to his constant insistence that Dan is ‘cute’.

 

“Aren’t you even a little bit tempted to cross to the dark side?” Dan asks PJ, winking.

 

“Oh, I’ve dipped my toe in the waters, don’t worry,” PJ says, smirking. Dan straightens up, impressed. “But I’m with Soph now. Very happily straight, for the time being.”

 

“Yeah, don’t say that too loudly, or you won’t be able to bid for me,” Phil tells him, glancing around at their immediate vicinity. “Speaking of…” Phil reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. He smooths it out and places it on the bartop, grinning. “Found this on the wall in my building’s lobby.”

 

Dan shuts his eyes, wanting to groan. It’s one of Tyler’s stupid posters about the auction, with Phil’’s sultry smile peering out from the centre.

 

“Glad to see you chose one of Phil’s more conservative photos,” PJ teases.

 

“Shit, sorry.” Dan sighs, wanting to crumple the poster into a ball. It wouldn’t help much - they’re all over the walls in here too. “Ty can’t be reasoned with- I didn’t think he’d put the posters up outside of the bar-”

 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Phil laughs, shrugging. “I said I’d do it, didn’t I? So how does this auction thing work?”

 

“Glad you asked, hot stuff,” Tyler butts in out of nowhere, elbowing Dan to the side. He’s holding a sparkly green clipboard. “I’ve got your name down here as the final bidding item, so we can bring you out right at the end as the grand finale.”

 

Phil catches Dan’s eye, obviously amused. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

 

“We think you’re going to pull some serious interest from our patrons,” Tyler explains, businesslike. “After all, you’ve got a fair few fans out there. Right, Dan?”

 

As subtly as he can Dan kicks Tyler in the leg. “Would you like some drinks, guys? Ow!”

 

Tyler has kicked him back, catching him in the shin. It’s definitely going to bruise; Dan glares at Tyler, bus unsurprisingly it has little effect.

 

“I’ll have a Gamma Ray IPA,” PJ says.

 

“Surprise me,” Phil says, as usual. A slow grin spreads over his mouth, and Dan has to turn away from it lest he fall, ungracefully, to the floor.

 

“Um, I have a question,” PJ says as Dan begins preparing a cocktail.

 

“Yes?” Dan and Tyler say simultaneously.

 

“When you bid for someone, what exactly is it that you’re bidding for?”

 

“A servant,” Tyler answers, grinning at him.

 

“For the evening,” Dan adds, glaring at Tyler again. “Or, like, a few hours. Obviously the ‘servants’ aren’t obligated to do anything they don’t want to, but it’s sort of suggested that the person who bid for them gets a chunk of their time.”

 

“Most people go for dinner or something,” Tyler says. “Or you can stay here and dance together all night.”

 

“Or… something else?” PJ asks, one eyebrow raised.

 

“We don’t have any say in what happens once the servant is sold,” Tyler says, laughing. “That’s to be negotiated between yourselves.”

 

“So, to be clear,” Phil says. “I’m not expected to do anything but spend some quality time with whoever purchases me.”

 

“Hey, it’s up to you, sailor,” Tyler says. “If you’re bought by a hottie, you can make awkward small talk, or you can let him drag him into a hedge and snog him for the next few hours.”

 

“To be clear, Phil,” PJ says, accepting the can of Gamma Ray beer that Dan hands him and taking a sip. “If I win your sorry ass, I’m escorting you home clear of any hedges.”

 

Dan pours the cocktail he’s made into a cold glass, then pushes it across the bar towards Phil.

 

“Oh! Thanks,” Phil says, taking a sip and sighing. “Delicious, as usual. How much do I owe you?”

 

“Oh, honey,” Tyler says, placing a gentle hand on Phil’s wrist. “Something tells me your cute little tush is about to make us a whole load of money. These are on the house.”

 

*

 

Around ten people have signed up to be servants tonight. Dan is the so-called auctioneer of these events, whilst Tyler hypes up the crowd. They make a great team, and usually get people riled up enough to spend more money than they probably should.

 

Dan might normally feel bad about this, but in all honesty, gay clubs are expensive to run (the glitter alone is a vast expense) and doing these ‘servant auctions’ once a month is a great way to raise money.

 

“So, next up we have Christopher,” Tyler announces as a thin young man with a streaky orange fake tan walks up onto the stage. He’s dressed in a snakeskin mini-skirt and a crop top that says ‘Bitch’ in glittery blue writing. “As you can see, Chris here has stepped straight out of 2004 to be with us this evening. This probably means he’s exceptionally literate in Lindsay Lohan-lore, as well as the art of wearing looped belts with any outfit.”

 

The audience laugh, and Christopher casts an indignant look towards Tyler. Stood just off stage,  Phil catches Dan’s eye, hiding a giggle behind his hand. It makes Dan laugh, and he has to direct it into the crook of his elbow.

 

“So, Danny darling,” Tyler calls to him across the stage. “Shall we start the bidding for Christopher at around ten pounds?”

 

Dan nods, gathering himself together as he turns to face the audience. “Do I have ten pounds from someone?”

 

“I’ll bid,” someone in the back calls, waving a ten pound note into the air. “I’ll have him serenade me with Avril songs.”

 

“Anyone want to bid twenty?” Dan asks.

 

“I will,” someone else calls.

 

It gets going, and as Christopher is a young, attractive guy - despite his unusually dated dress sense - the bidding gets to one hundred and thirty pounds.

 

“Going once, going twice…” Dan pauses, scanning the room to be sure nobody else is about to jump in. “Sold!”

 

Christopher hops daintily down from the stage, sauntering over to the portly, older man who purchased him. The man slings an arm around Christopher’s shoulders, grinning, and steers him over to the bar. Just in time, Dan notices Dodie running over to them to collect the £130.

 

“Right everyone,” Tyler calls out, grinning. “This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Our celebrity guest!”

 

An unruly cheer surges up from the crowd. Dan glances offstage; Phil looks mildly concerned, but shoots Dan a smile nonetheless. He looks good this evening, in a loose, low-neck white t-shirt and black jeans. He’s wearing glasses, but thin ones, and there’s a hint of stubble lacing his jaw.

 

“Uh, earth to Dan?” Tyler is saying into the microphone. Blushing, Dan unsticks his eyes from the man offstage, and turns to Tyler. “Looks like our auctioneer might throw in a bid for this next one himself.”

 

Dan makes a mental note to kick Tyler later for that comment. “Alright, get on with it.”

 

“Okay, ladies, gentlemen and everyone in between,” Tyler announces. “Please welcome to the stage, the one and only Amazing Phil!”

 

The crowd whoop and cheer as Phil strides onto the stage. He stands next to Dan, waving a little awkwardly at the audience. Their cheers don’t stop for another minute, so Phil shoves his hands into his pockets, laughing at their enthusiasm. There are a lot of wolf whistles, Dan can’t help but notice.

 

“If only they knew how badly you suck at Mario Kart,” Dan whispers into his ear, grinning.

 

Phil laughs, nudging Dan in the side. “Oi, I’m fantastic! Just because you’re some sort of Mario Kart prodigy.”

 

“Well then,” Tyler says loudly once the applause is starting to die down. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the identity of the wondrous specimen before you, but in case you are not…” Dan holds his breath, begging Tyler silently not to say anything too awful. “Phil Lester is known mostly for his hot bod, and his gorgeous blue eyes, both of which he shows off on his Instagram account ‘AmazingPhil’.”

 

“We know, honey,” someone calls out from the crowd. “My browser history is _very_ familiar with that account.”

 

“Phil likes fruity cocktails, rude and handsome men, and whipping his top off at any given opportunity,” Tyler says; Dan has to stop himself from going over and grabbing the microphone off him. Luckily, Phil just laughs. “As he is such a hot commodity, shall we start the bidding for this fine little tush at, say, fifty pounds?”

 

Dan opens his mouth to say that they can’t possibly start so high, but before he can make a sound, twenty hands rise into the air, along with shouts of affirmation. PJ, amongst them, just shrugs at Phil, evidently realising that he didn’t need to come and bid for him at all.

 

Dan blinks at all the raised hands, but acknowledges the bids accordingly, and asks if anyone would bid sixty.

 

Phil is wearing a look of astonishment as well. The bids increase more and more, and time begins slipping by. They reach six hundred pounds, at which point Phil is red-faced and laughing, covering his face with his hands. The crowd is getting a bit unruly, too hyped up about the idea of having Phil for an entire evening, all to themselves, to remain in control of themselves. The catcalls get more sexual, more specific; once or twice Matt has to weave himself into the crowd in order to issue warnings to certain individuals for being too aggressive.

 

Just after Matt is forced to break up an actual fight that breaks out between two warring bidders, things begin to slow. The bids are approaching one thousand five hundred pounds, which is by far the most expensive ‘servant’ ever sold at one of these events. One man in an expensive looking suit and tie, sat at the back of the room, sipping a martini, is the main bidder. His opponents are a group of excitable young men wearing neon thigh-highs, who seem to be pooling their funds.

 

The man in the suit raises his hand to indicate he will not stop at £1500, at which point the group of neon boys groan, obviously out of cash.

 

“So, if there are no higher offers, AmazingPhil is going for £1500,” Dan announces, something unpleasant scritching at his stomach. He shouldn’t be jealous. He’s already had an evening with Phil, alone, after all, and that was free of charge. “Going once, going twice…”

 

Dan waits, the word ‘sold’ on the tip of his tongue. Just then, someone pushes their way into the midst of the crowd, a fist full of notes clutched in his fist, which is raised above his head. The other hand holds a drink, which he is upending into his mouth.

 

Immediately, Dan feels Phil tensing beside him, and looks around just in time to see the smile slip off his face.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” the newcomer calls out. He lowers his drink from his face and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Dan could scream in frustration; it’s Charlie Hickory. “I’m here. Two grand for the lanky emo.”

 

There’s a stunned silence. Dan looks towards Tyler, who is clearly practically salivating at the idea of that much money.

 

Not seeing any other option, Dan shrugs. “Sold.”

 

There’s an unmistakable grumble of discontent threading its way through the crowd. Tyler and Dan exchange a worried glance. This is not how it should have gone, Dan knows. Servants aren’t supposed to be bought by their partners, that’s against the rules. With any luck, nobody will know that Phil and Charlie are together, but still.

 

Probably to prevent the protest that Dan can sense brewing as Phil awkwardly clambers off stage and steps over to Charlie, Tyler grabs hold of Dan by the arm and marches him to centre stage.

 

“Okay, folks, for one night only, we have a surprise bonus servant,” Tyler says quickly into the mic. At once, the crowd turn to them, their interests piqued.

 

“Ty, what are you playing at?” Dan hisses at him. “There are no more sign-ups. Phil was the last one.”

 

Tyler ignores him. “I’m sure you regulars are familiar with our cutest bartender, Mister Dan Howell!”

 

The blood drains from Dan’s face. He tries to run, but Tyler’s grip is vice-like. “Ty, no! I’m working, I can’t-”

 

“For one night only, bid for the chance to snatch up his little twink-butt for the entirety of his twenty-minute break,” Tyler gushes, evidently making this up as he goes. “Do I have a starting bid?”

 

“Twenty bucks!”

 

Dan peers into the crowd. The bidder is a familiar face - one of their more rowdy regulars. Dan’s had the guy try to hit on him a few times before. He’s persistent, to say the least.

 

“Twenty-five!”

 

This time it’s a larger, mildly intimidating looking dude with a prominent brow and a thick moustache. Dan swallows, noting the size of him.

 

“I fucking hate you, Tyler,” Dan mutters, heart starting to pound.

 

“I know,” Tyler murmurs back. “I owe you, I’m sorry.”

 

“Fifty!”

 

“Fifty-eight!”

 

“Sixty!”

 

“Ninety-five.”

 

“Five hundred!”

 

A shocked silence falls. Dan blinks, sure he must have misheard.

 

“Uh, was that a bid for five hundred pounds?” Tyler asks, scanning the room. “Who said that?”

 

“I did.” A hand raises into the air, and someone begins pushing through the crowd. Dan tries to squint through the blaring stage lights to make out who it is.

 

“For twenty minutes with him?” Someone asks, incredulous. “Is he a fucking blowjob queen or something?”

 

At last, the bidder gets to the stage, and Dan damn near passes out into Tyler’s arms. It’s none other than Phil Lester, grinning up at him, one hand holding out a bunch of fifty pound notes. Tyler cautiously accepts them, counting them in turn. He nods to Dan, confirming that Phil just gave him five hundred pounds.

 

“Uh, sold, I guess,” Tyler says. “Congratulations to our former servant, AmazingPhil, for bagging himself a, uh, second servant.”

 

“Is that even allowed?” Someone asks.

 

Tyler just shrugs, defeatedly. “It’s never happened before.”

 

“Hey, don’t discriminate,” PJ calls out, raising his glass from where he’s stood nearby. “Servants are allowed servants, right? If they can afford them, at least.”

 

Dan just stares, too shocked to say anything more. Belatedly, he realises that Phil is holding a hand out to him. The problem is that Dan seems to be rooted to the spot, unable to take hold of it. Tyler nudges him in the side.

 

Phil chuckles then, and leans forward, grabbing hold of Dan’s hand and tugging him forwards. Dan stumbles towards him, almost falling off the stage; seeming not to know how else to proceed, Phil hooks an arm around Dan’s legs and yanks him forwards. Dan topples off the stage with a yelp, and falls straight into Phil’s waiting arms, like a bride being carried over a threshold. Forgetting their displeasure, the crowd laugh at the sight, particularly as the little squeak of surprise leaves Dan’s lips.

 

Not knowing how else to react, Dan just hooks his arm around Phil’s shoulders, and lets himself be carried, red-faced and rigid from shock, through the parting crowd.

 

*

 

It’s fucking freezing, but Dan is absolutely not in the mood to complain. He reaches for another chip from the paper basket Phil has bought them to share, glad for the warmth as he swallows it down. They’re sat on the beach, side by side. The stones beneath them dig uncomfortably into their bums and thighs, and the icy wind whips salt spray through their hair. They stare out at the ferocious sea, stretching out into the darkness. They haven’t spoken in a while, mostly because Dan is too in awe of the situation. He’s sat on Brighton beach a hundred times, but this could be the first, it feels so new. So raw. There’s an electricity in the air, charged by the pounding waves, flickering a static between his and Phil’s bodies. It makes Dan shiver.

 

Phil looks over at him, concerned. “Are you cold?” He starts to shrug off his jacket.

 

Dan wants to protest, to say he doesn’t need to do that, but the words stick in his throat, blocked by the lump he feels swelling there. Phil drapes the jacket over his shoulders. It feels heavy and expensive; the wind is still cold, but it’s better than nothing.

 

“Thanks,” Dan manages to whisper. He doesn’t deserve this moment, he doesn’t deserve Phil and his kindness and generosity. He can’t say this out loud, though. “What happened to Charlie?” Dan asks instead. “Did he leave without telling you again?”

 

Phil shrugs, plucking another chip from the basket. “He was annoyed with me, I think.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Is that surprising?” Phil laughs.

 

“I just can’t imagine being annoyed with you,” Dan confesses. There’s a silence in the wake of his words; Dan turns to Phil, worried he said the wrong thing, only to find that the other man is smiling, fondly.

 

“That’s really sweet,” Phil mutters. Dan isn’t sure if he was supposed to hear. “Charlie gets easily annoyed.”

 

“Well, he annoys me, so…” Dan regrets the words as soon as they’re out. He turns to Phil, guilty. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. I know you and him are-”

 

“It’s okay,” Phil sighs. “He’s a pain, I know.”

 

Dan just chews his chips, feeling awkward. “Thanks for the chips, by the way.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“I feel so bad,” Dan tells him, drawing the jacket tighter around his shoulders. “I wish I could give you a bit more for your money.”

 

A surprised sort of laugh splutters from Phil’s chest, and Dan realises what he just said, flushing.

 

“Oh my God, no I just mean, fuck, I mean like-”

 

“I get you, don’t worry,” Phil says, laughing. He pushes Dan in the shoulder, teasing. “Twenty minutes isn’t very long to get of Dan-time.”

 

“I can just owe you more Dan-time,” he suggests. “I mean, if you want. I’ll think of things to make it worth the five hundred quid you shelled out.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Phil asks. The night sky has blanketed darkness over the beach, but the moon is out, and it glistens in the sharp blue of Phil’s eyes. “Like what?”

 

Dan blushes at once. “Whatever you want.”

 

“Careful,” Phil says quickly. “Some people might take advantage of a promise like that.”

 

Dan chokes on his next chip, and Phil thumps him in the back, laughing. “Okay, I’m starting to get why Charlie might be annoyed at you sometimes.”

 

A frown forms on Phil’s mouth, making Dan want to eat his own words, joking as he’d intended them to be. “He just thought I shouldn’t have bid on you, is all.”

 

Dan stops chewing. “...oh.”

 

“He thought he did some grand thing by swooping in and bidding on me at the last minute,” Phil says, sounding tired. “I didn’t ask him to do that, though. I actually think it’s kind of unfair to the other people bidding.”

 

Dan just shrugs. “Maybe, I guess.”

 

“I guess he thought I didn’t care enough that he paid all that money,” Phil mulls, staring out into the horizon. “That’s not exactly true. I mean it was nice of him, I suppose. But I think he did it just to show that he could.”

 

“And he thought you were unappreciative of his gesture,” Dan says slowly, figuring it out. He pauses for a moment. “Because then you went and bid on me.”

 

“Yeah, I guess. But you were about to be fed to the lions,” Phil says, laughing as he remembers. “You should’ve seen the way some of those guys were looking at you, jeez.”

 

One of Dan’s eyebrows lifts in surprise. The more traitorous part of his brain asks: _why do you care how they were looking at me?_

 

“I guess you saved me,” Dan says, half-teasing.

 

“I guess I did,” Phil says, throwing him a smirk. “But hey, it’s not like I get nothing out of it.”

 

“Yep, lucky you. As much Dan-time as you can stand.”

 

“That’s a big deal. Dan-time is precious, I imagine.”

 

“Oh, it is, for sure. I’m sacrificing all of the hours I spend alone in bed playing video games.”

 

Phil laughs, eating another chip. “Speaking of, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Just then, Dan’s phone rings. He curses, throwing his chip, and apologises to Phil as he digs it from his pocket. The name ‘Designer Slut’ blinks at him from his screen, and he groans, swiping to answer.

 

“Hey, Ty.”

 

“Okay, servant, time’s up with Tyra Banks. Time to get your ass back behind the bar.”

 

“Okay, okay. Be there in a sec.”

 

“I want to hear every last detail, bitch.”

 

“Bye, Ty.”

 

He hangs up, turning to Phil. “I have to get back. I’m sorry.”

 

Phil looks a little sad, but nods in understanding. “That’s okay. I have more Dan-time in credit.”

 

Dan chuckles, blushing faintly. “If you want it, it’s yours.”

 

“Oh, I want it.” Phil winks, and Dan almost falls over as he stands.

 

“Are you not coming?”

 

“Nah,” Phil turns back to the sea, shoulders slumping. “Think I’ll stay here for a while.”

 

“No skinny dipping,” Dan says, pulling the jacket from his shoulders and handing it back.

 

Phil laughs, taking it from him. “Aw, why not?”

 

“I’m serious!” Dan jabs a finger at him. “The amount of helicopters they have to send out to scoop drunk idiots from the sea at night is outrageous. People drown doing that all the time.”

 

“It’s cute that you’re concerned for my safety.”

 

Dan blushes again; hopefully it just looks like wind burn. “Well, thanks for the jacket. And the chips. And… y’know, paying five hundred pounds to save me from being kidnapped by sexually frustrated middle aged men.”

 

Phil laughs a lot at that, his tongue pressing itself to the top row of his teeth, the way Dan has admired so often in pictures. “You’re welcome. Have a good rest of your shift.”

 

Dan gives him an awkward wave, and begins trudging back across the pebbles. Before he reaches the steps up from the beach, he turns one last time to see Phil, who is sat in the same position, staring out to sea. His jacket is laid across his lap, and the wind whips through his dark hair, so black that it blends almost seamlessly into the night sky above him.

 

As Dan watches, Phil takes hold of one of the jacket sleeves and brings it gently to his face. He presses his nose into the material, eyes slipping shut. A warm, pulsating glow radiates deep in Dan’s gut, and he holds his breath, not sure what to make of the scene.

 

Just then, his phone trills into life again, and Dan dives for it, rolling his eyes.

 

“I know, I know,” Dan says as he brings it to his ear. “I’m sorry, I’m on my way.”

 

He starts up the steps, taking them two at a time as Tyler jabbers in his ear. Phil, and the beach beyond, slip from Dan’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates every monday!


	6. Chapter 6

The bar is empty, but the lights are swirling across the dancefloor. Britney Spears’  _‘Everytime’_  is playing at a low volume, her deep, rough voice sliding chills up Dan’s bare arms. He is naked, and sprawled across the bar counter.

His face is turned towards the dancefloor, marvelling at how clean the floor is, for once. Somewhere at his navel, lips are pressing to his skin, over and over, like sweet butterflies landing on his abdomen. Dan sighs in contentment, eyes slipping closed. He opens them just in time to see Phil move over him, done with kissing his stomach now.

The shock of seeing Phil above him, also naked, their bodies pressed together on the bar, sends Dan into a flurry of panic. How did this happen? He is not prepared, not skilled enough to please such an immensity of a person. His hands ghost, trembling, over Phil’s shoulders, too reverent to actually touch.

“Do you want me?” Phil asks, absurdly.

All Dan can do is nod, vigorously, trying hard to convey how desperately he does without words. Phil sends him a wicked grin in return, sending Dan’s heart into palpitations. He sees Phil’s lips moving towards his, can feel the slide of Phil’s hips against his as their bodies move. He tries to ready himself for the onslaught of Phil’s mouth, but knows it will eviscerate him totally, the moment it happens. There’s no way to prepare.

He shuts his eyes, waiting for the missile of Phil’s kiss to strike him, when a voice permeates the air, grating and cold. “Knew he’d be shit in bed.”

Phil snaps his head to the side, annoyed. Dan turns too, blearily, to see Charlie Hickory standing in the shadows, sipping a Rainforest Cocktail with a nauseated expression, his lips blue from the liquid. He’s watching them with scorn, sneering in distaste. Dan tries to struggle from beneath Phil, to cover himself from Charlie’s stare, but he can barely move. Phil’s whole body covers him, and while it’s incredible, it’s also restrictive.

“Charlie, be nice,” Phil warns, then turns back to Dan. “Sorry about him.”

“What’s he doing here?” Dan hisses, feeling his cheeks heat.

“Oh, he’s just here to chill,” Phil shrugs, like it’s normal. “Ignore him.”

Dan tries to let Phil’s words placate him, but he can feel Charlie’s eyes burrowing into them, scrutinising their every movement. Phil tries to kiss him again, but Dan squirms from it, mortified by the third party watching.

“Can you get him to leave?”

Phil frowns. “Just pretend he’s not there.”

Dan wriggles again, glancing over at Charlie, who waggles his fingers. “Not sure I can do that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I knew he wouldn’t have the balls,” Charlie sighs, tossing the Rainforest over his shoulder so that it smashes behind him. Dan tuts, knowing he’ll be the one that has to clean that up. Charlie stalks over to the bar then, seizing Phil’s face in his hands. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He smashes his mouth into Phil’s, kissing fiercely, and the bar beneath Dan seems to fall away, he feels punched by the sight happening right above him, wants to drag Charlie off of Phil by his stupid quiff. Charlie pulls off, slightly breathless, and turns to Dan, still pinned to the bar by Phil on top of him.

“Give it up, Dan,” Charlie says, condescendingly. “He’s  _mine_.”

At that second, Dan jerks awake, anguished and filled with fury. Charlie’s smug face lingers, ghostlike, in front of him. It churns his stomach, making him queasy and breathless. A minute or so passes, eyes closed against the sickness roiling within him as Charlie, and the bar, and the rest of the weird fever dream gently ebbs away. It’s around then that Dan realises his nausea is actually  a product of what feels like a raging hangover, if his pounding head, raw throat, and bitter tongue are any indication.

He peels open his eyes, rather reluctantly. For a wild, slightly scary moment, he has no idea where he is. Then, the zig-zag blanket draped over his body catches his eye, and the feeling of immense comfort sparks a faint memory in his brain.

He’s been on this couch before.

Dan looks around for his phone, heart already thrumming as he tries to recall what happened last night, what day it is, and whether he needs to apologise to Phil or anyone else for his behaviour. He thinks today is Sunday, which is good, because the bar is closed. He’d never forgive himself for this hangover if he had to work later.

He finds his phone in his shoe beside the sofa, almost dead, but flooded with notifications. Too bleary to read any of them, Dan just checks the time. 

It’s 11am.

“Crap,” Dan mutters, running a hand through his hair.

“Morning to you too, sunshine,” Phil says from a nearby armchair, making Dan leap out of his skin.

His eyes flick to the other man, who is slumped in the chair, nursing what looks like a much-needed coffee. His voice is rough and gravelly, his chest bare. He’s wearing pyjama pants with emojis on them, and slippers that look like loaves of bread.

“Morning,” Dan says. His voice comes out like sandpaper. “Um, what… what happened last night?”

Phil flicks his gaze across to Dan, eyebrow quirking. A smile spreads across his mouth. “You don’t remember?”

Remnants of memory snag across Dan’s mind: downing a shot as Tyler urged him on, dancing to  _‘London Bridge’_  by Fergie on the dancefloor (which, incidentally, Tyler refers to as Dan’s ‘stripper song’), Phil filming him with his phone…

“Bits and pieces,” Dan says unsurely. “Did I get drunk during my shift?”

Phil barks a laugh. “You could say that.”

“Ugh,” Dan grunts, rubbing his sleep-caked eyes. “Such a responsible adult. I’m blaming Tyler for allowing me to do that.”

“Might wanna check Instagram,” Phil says; he sounds suspiciously nonchalant about the suggestion. He pockets his phone, stands up, and heads for the kitchen beyond. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

As soon as Phil leaves, the chill of his words hangs in the air. Dan’s gaze falls, trepidatious, to the phone in his lap. It seems like a primed bomb, suddenly. He reaches for it with caution, not really wanting to know.

The moment he clicks onto Instagram, the notifications pour out in a stream, attacking him in their thousands. He goes to his own profile, and his jaw falls to the floor.

**Followers**   
_53,289_

Dan stares at the number, uncomprehending. His notifications page is swarming with new followers, liking his photos, commenting beneath them.

He wonders, as he scrolls through them, whether he’s been hacked. Or if he drunkenly purchased a load of those fake follow accounts in a vain attempt to impress Phil. Then, he starts reading what these new followers are writing.

_Who is he omg_

_Think I’ve found a new fave twink account :o_

_He’s cuuuute!_

_He might be cuter than Charlie…_

The last comment snags his attention, mostly because of the name.  _Charlie._

“Any news?”

Dan starts, head whipping towards Phil so fast that it makes the room spin on its axis. “I… what’s going on?”

Phil titters, placing a cup of coffee in front of Dan. He reaches for it at once, taking a huge, scalding gulp. Eugh, he really needs to tell Phil at some point that he hates sugar in his coffee.

“I tagged you in my Instagram story last night,” Phil tells him. His tone is hesitant, as if he’s unsure whether this is good or bad news to relay. “People… reacted well to you.”

“I have fifty-three thousand followers as of this morning,” Dan says, blankly. He still can’t wrap his head around it.

“Congrats?” Phil offers, sinking back into his chair.

Dan places his coffee down, swallowing thickly, and types Phil’s name into the Instagram search bar. He goes to AmazingPhil’s account, thumb hovering over his icon, around which a think pink line pulsates, indicating that Phil has, indeed, updated his story.

He presses the icon.

Immediately, he recognises the bar where Phil is filming. It’s the bar Dan has worked at for the past four years of his life,  _Habanero_ , and it’s crammed with patrons, as it always is on a Saturday night. Nicki Minaj’s ‘Super Bass’ blares from the background as Phil films the crowds, ending with a close up of his own face, wide-eyed as he sips a cocktail Dan recognises as a ‘Habenero Hallmark’. It has a dash of chilli oil in it, after its namesake, which explains Phil’s subsequent wince and splutter after he takes a sip.

“Wait, what are you- are you watching my story?” Phil - the present-day Phil - asks from his chair, already standing up. Dan nods, barely hearing him. “Scoot over, I wanna watch with you.”

Dan turns to him, surprised, but obediently shuffles further into the sofa cushions in order to let Phil squeeze in next to him. To his mild despair, Phil slips his legs under the blanket as well, pressed against Dan’s. At least Phil has those stupid emoji pyjama pants on, Dan thinks, mercifully. Were he forced to be skin on skin with Phil beneath the blanket, he might self combust.

He turns back to his phone screen with some difficulty. Now, the Phil of last night is at the bar, filming a cocktail being prepared. With a sinking dread, Dan realises he already recognises the hands on-screen, but then the camera pans upwards, and Dan’s damp forehead is on show, his brow furrowed as he concentrates.

From off-camera, Phil shouts, “guys, this is Dan! He’s the best bartender in the world, and he’s making me a new cocktail ‘cause he’s a hero, and I didn’t like the last one.”

Dan watches his own face crinkle into a smile as he hears Phil’s compliment. He vaguely remembers this moment; he hadn’t been drunk at this point, he’s sure. Phil’s sweet words had felt like warm, melted honey drizzling down his chest. 

He watches himself stare up at Phil’s face, off-screen, with a gooeyness that seems nauseatingly transparent. Is this why all those people followed him? Because he is obviously, hilariously smitten with someone so far out of his league?

“Phil’s a wimp and can’t handle a teeny bit of chilli,” Dan tells the camera, eyes glinting with mischief. Dan, on the sofa, huffs a laugh at his own cheeky response. Both the Phil beside him, and the Phil behind the camera, laugh as well, making Dan’s chest swell with pride.

“I’d like to see you try it, Dan,” off-screen-Phil shoots back, making the Dan on camera narrow his eyes.

“You’re on, Lester.”

He abandons the cocktail he’s making, wipes his hands on his jeans and grabs six shot glasses from underneath the bar.  _Ohhh_ , sofa-Dan realises, the memory washing over him as it unfolds on screen. Suddenly his hangover is starting to make a heck of a lot more sense.

He watches, dismayed, as he pours the Habenero-chilli infused tequila into the six shot glasses, and, as Phil films him, systematically downs each one.

“What the fuck was I thinking?” Dan asks aloud.

Phil points to a person Dan hadn’t noticed, behind Dan on the screen. It’s vaguely recognisable as Tyler, but only vaguely, as he’s moving about too much to be sure. He’s cheering loudly, chanting Dan’s name, and getting the customers around the bar to do the same.

A loud, triumphant cry rises from the crowd as Dan throws the last shot down, his hands shooting into the air. Phil is cheering too, and Dan cringes at the gleeful, smashed look on his own dumb face.

“Holy shit,” Dan breathes, shaking his head. “No wonder it feels like someone shoved a red hot poker down my throat. Those chilli shots are lethal.”

“I can’t believe you did six,” Phil says, beside him, chuckling. “It was seriously impressive.”

The story jumps to further along in the night, and Dan is obviously trashed. He’s on his knees on the bar, hips gyrating as he pours a cocktail into a martini glass, his hair curled at the temples with sweat, his light grey shirt covered in glitter. Phil is still filming him, laughing. There are several captions adorning the video that Phil must have added whilst a little tipsy himself:

_Brighton’s Best Bartender XD_

_❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎_

_GO FOLLOW @DANISNOTONFIRE !!!_

The hearts, in particular, make Dan flush bright red. “Oh my fucking God.”

He wants to click off the video, and tries to do just that, but Phil stops him, grabbing his phone and laughing. “Nooo, let’s watch the rest!”

“Phil, this is humiliating!”

“Tyler thought it was a great idea. He reckoned me filming you would get the bar loads of new customers.”

“Oh my God, you’ve teamed up with  _Tyler_  of all people,” Dan groans, burying his face in Phil’s shoulder. “I’m doomed.”

It occurs to him, belatedly, that Phil’s shoulder is bare, and that it’s probably very inappropriate for him to be doing this, so he jerks away, blushing more. For some reason, this seems to make Phil sling an arm around him, pulling him close, and bringing the phone back in front of his nose.

“Just watch this last bit,” Phil wheedles, squeezing Dan to his chest.

Obviously, Dan is helpless to speak in this position, let alone refuse, so he just nods, frozen as the steady, even beat of Phil’s heart resounds in his ears.

The story jumps to the next bit, which is a photo of he and Phil, their faces pressed against each other, cheek to cheek. Phil has covered the photo with pulsating pink hearts. Dan has a huge smile on his face, and his eyes squeezed shut. He does not remember this photo being taken, and it kills him a little inside. He looks so blissfully happy, smushed against his favourite person in the world.

Phil hums a fond little noise, then clicks to the next image. It’s a boomerang, of Phil and Dan slurping down a single Rainforest cocktail, one stripey straw each. 

“Fuck,” Dan breathes, wincing. “No wonder I feel so horrendous. How much did I drink?”

“After you lit those shots on fire, everyone started buying you drinks,” Phil tells him.

“I lit shots on fire?!” Dan exclaims. “That’s against the safety regulations, I could’ve burned the bar down! Why the fuck did Tyler let me-”

Phil laughs, squeezing Dan again. “Dan, don’t freak out. You were  _brilliant_  last night. Tyler said you alone made twice the money you usually do on a Saturday night, not including tips.”

Dan is silent, processing that. He decides not to respond.

The story plays on, and now there’s a photo of he and Phil filling the screen again. A selfie, like the last one, but this time Phil’s lips are pressed to Dan’s cheek. The caption reads:

_New OTP??? #Phan ;)_

It makes Dan suck in a breath, which he tries to disguise as a cough, probably not very well. Phil chuckles again, and screenshots the photo, despite it being Dan’s phone. Dan is, in a way, glad for this, as now he won’t have to screenshot it himself, and risk the embarrassment of Phil seeing.

“So… I’m guessing Charlie wasn’t there last night?” Dan asks after his heart has settled back into a regular rhythm.

Like it’s allergic to the mention of Charlie’s name, Dan’s phone instantly dies. He plucks it from Phil’s hand and sits up straight, letting Phil’s arm slip from his shoulders.

Whilst he’d been enjoying the sensation of having Phil’s arm around him a lot, it had been a bit too much for his hungover state. 

“Nah, he had to work.”

“So you just swung by on your own?”

“Thought I’d pop in and see you,” Phil says, smiling broadly. “I was on my way back home.”

“From?”

Phil sighs, draining the last of his coffee. “My agency in London.”

Dan nods, though he can’t begin to picture what that would even look like. “So you came in to grab some Dan-time, and I ended up getting hammered and crashing on your sofa.” Dan rolls his eyes at himself. “Sorry.”

“Hah, I think it was mostly my fault, to be honest,” Phil admits. “I was urging you on. It’s only fair that I let you stay with me instead of sending you off to try and cross town back to your place.”

“Well, you did get me a fuckton of Instagram followers,” Dan says. “So I guess we’re even.”

Phil smiles at him. “Glad you see it that way. But honestly Dan, I think you got yourself those followers.” Phil laughs, poking Dan in the side. “It was those dance moves, I reckon.”

Dan puts his head in his hands, cheeks warm. “Please don’t. I never want to see myself behaving like that again.”

“I wouldn’t mind a second show,” Phil quips. Dan lifts his head in surprise, but Phil is already moving off the sofa, throwing the blanket aside and standing. He stretches his arms above his head once he’s up, the long, tapered line of his back straightening in a smooth curve. “Anyway,” he says, yawning as Dan swallows a wave of longing to reach out and trail his fingers down the cord of his spine. “How about some breakfast, Coyote Ugly?”

Unable to help smiling, Dan shrugs his shoulders. “It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair. I’ve already been enough of a nuisance, I imagine.”

He wishes he could remember the trip back to Phil’s flat after his shift, but that part of the night is a dark void. He hopes Phil didn’t have to help him walk or anything embarrassing. He’s pretty sure he’d remember if he’d thrown up, which is a mercy, at least. The last thing he recalls before waking up on the sofa, is upending a bottle of cherry bakewell vodka into the mouths of a few guys wearing pink cowboy hats. Then, nothing.

“Let me put it this way,” Phil says, throwing a smile over his shoulder at Dan. “I’m gonna make enough pancakes for two, so if you leave now then you’re responsible for me eating them all.”

Dan laughs, watching Phil walk towards the kitchen, empty coffee mug in hand. Perhaps he could stay for a short while. Maybe until his head has stopped throbbing. Or just until all the pancakes are gone.

*

He stays for pancakes.

He stays for pancakes on Monday morning too. 

Dan spends all of Sunday, and most of Monday on the angelically soft island that is Phil’s purple sofa. They play endless games of Mario Kart, and Fallout 4, and Fortnite, which Phil tells him he’s obsessed with, and now Dan is obsessed with too. 

They eat dozens of pancakes, they order pizza twice, they eat all the Pringles, marshmallows and chocolate in Phil’s cupboards, as well as any other junk food they can get their hands on. It’s hangover food, Phil assures Dan at one point. It doesn’t count. Dan’s not sure about this philosophy, but then again, one look at Phil’s abs is enough to make Dan believe anything he says about the matter.

When, somehow, it gets to midnight on Sunday, Dan tries to tell Phil he should head home, but Phil, who is slipping Season One of  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_  into his DVD player, won’t hear of it.

“Just stay for one episode,” he pleads, pouting. Dan instantly relents, of course. 

One episode becomes two, which becomes three, and a half… When he wakes up on Monday morning, he’s still on Phil’s sofa, but this time his head rests on Phil’s shoulder.

It’s torturous, to wake up next to Phil Lester - who never did bother to put on a shirt - and not be able to do anything but move swiftly away from him. To avoid the temptation of pressing himself against all those miles of perfection, Dan picks himself up, leaving Phil to sleep on, and jumps in his shower. Then, he goes to make pancakes, telling himself that he’s simply returning the favour.

As he flips each one, he stares, teeth clenched, into the sizzling batter, imagining Phil is the scalding hot surface of the pan, and he is the pancake, slowly cooking himself one side after another, willingly lowering his fragile batter to Phil’s torturous yet irresistible touch. 

To be friends with Phil is depraved. It’s self-torture, whichever way Dan looks at it. He’d like to pretend he’s no longer obsessed, now that they’ve spent time together, now that he knows Phil as a person, and not just a distant star. But it’s not true. 

_‘Never meet your heroes’_ , Dan’s grandmother used to say from time to time. She would warn him that they’d never live up to the fantasy version Dan would construct in his mind. ‘ _People are always just people in the end’_ , she’d once said.  

But she was wrong. 

Every single thing Dan learns about Phil makes him more fascinating, not the other way around. Once, a year or so ago, Dan had stumbled upon the AmazingPhil account, and spent several hours scrolling through each photo, only to conclude that Phil Lester was the most beautiful person alive. 

Then, in the subsequent months, Dan had seen his videos, and heard him talk to his audience about his clumsiness and his fondness for fluffy animals. He’d heard Phil sing off-key anime intros, and sip bright cocktails with a glint in his ice blue eyes. 

And now, knowing Phil in person, Dan has only discovered more of the same wild, colourful vivacity in the man. It’s like ‘AmazingPhil’ is only a slice of him, a hint at the layers and layers of crazy, happy, hilarious, sweetness that make him up. 

It’s so unfair, Dan can’t help thinking. If meeting Phil IRL had been a disappointment, this would all have been so much easier to handle. He might have been able to stop being so madly obsessed with the guy if he’d turned out to be vapid and ordinary - like Charlie comes across, for example. But Phil’s not like that, and Dan should have known that he wouldn’t be. He should’ve said no the first time Phil asked him round, or left when Phil asked him to stay. Because every moment, every second he spends in Phil’s presence only makes it worse. 

He’s fucked, royally. Phil won’t want him back. He won’t consider Dan as anything other than a friend. He’s got Charlie, for a start. Successful, beautiful Charlie. 

And even if he didn’t, there’s no way his next choice would be a socially-awkward bartender who humiliates himself publicly after a few tequila shots. 

Dan sighs, switching off the stove, and shovels the pancakes onto two plates. 

*

Phil’s smile is rose pink and glittering as Dan brings him a plate of syrup-drenched pancakes. He gazes at them with wonderment, as if he just watched Dan conjure them out of thin air, as if Dan didn’t just break into all of Phil’s food cupboards, use his stove without asking, and make a huge batter-y mess of his pristine kitchen.

“Oh,” Phil says, swallowing his last bite. They’re watching Buffy, kind of, but mostly chatting. “I forgot, I wanted to ask you something.”

Vaguely, Dan remembers Phil telling him this a few days ago, back on the beach. He’d gotten distracted and never found out what it was. Intrigued, Dan turns to him.

“Yeah?”

“So,” Phil begins, eyes dropping to his plate as he sweeps a fingertip through a puddle of syrup. He looks… vaguely embarrassed. Dan is even more intrigued. “I was wondering what you’re doing at the weekend.”

Dan’s heart stops. 

He shakes any ridiculous thoughts of potential dates from his mind before they can properly form, irritated by his own stupidity. In what world would Phil Lester ask him on an actual  _date_? He has a boyfriend. And he’s famous. The absurdity is actually laughable.

“Just working, as usual,” Dan says, twirling his fork against his own plate. “But only Saturday evening, obviously.”

Phil nods, sipping the tea Dan made him to go with his pancakes. “Cool.”

Dan waits for Phil to continue, confused. There’s definitely a dusting of pink along his cheekbones. It makes him look even more angelic than usual.

“...Why?”

Phil gnaws his lip, looking at Dan. “You can totally say no,” he says quickly, putting his plate down on the coffee table. “There’s no pressure, I just thought, maybe…”

It’s sweet, really, that Phil thinks there’s anything he could ask of Dan that he’d actually be able to refuse. 

“What is it?”

“I’m going to the Maldives for a few days for a shoot,” Phil says, sounding way less happy about this than Dan is sure he would be were the situations reversed. “I leave on Friday. I was just gonna ask if maybe you’d want to… stay here?” The request hangs in the air, a tempting, plump fruit dangling above Dan’s head, ready for plucking. “Like, while I’m away. I wanted to have someone around to water the plants and get the mail and stuff. You don’t have to, obviously, but I just thought as it’s close to the bar, and I trust you, and I don’t really know anyone else here-”

“Phil,” Dan interrupts, realising that Phil is rambling from nerves. He tries not to let the smile he gives splinter with stupid disappointment, born of the idiotic hope he’d tried not to feel. “I’d love to help you out. It’s not like it’s a chore to stay in your enormous, sea-view apartment.”

A relieved grin spreads over Phil’s face, and his shoulders sag of tension. “Really? You’re the best, Dan.”

He reaches over and grabs Dan’s hand, lacing his fingers through it and squeezing them. Dan’s heart squeezes too, as if Phil had wrapped his syrup-sticky fist around that, as well. He looks down at their intertwined fingers, aching; does Phil have any idea that this one, simple action is going to play on a loop in Dan’s head every night for weeks?

“And you don’t have to stay on the sofa while I’m not here,” Phil starts to say, drawing his hand away before Dan can even get used to the feeling. His breath catches in his lungs as the touch of him slips away. “You can just take the bed.”

“Oh, right,” Dan says, his mind not catching up for a moment. Once he realises what Phil just said, he reddens, stammering, “oh, wait, no, I don’t know if- the sofa’s really comfy I don’t need-”

“Seriously!” Phil insists. “It’s totally fine. I won’t be using it, after all. Just… maybe don’t bring anybody back to share it with you.”

Dan snorts at the ludicrousness. “As if.”

“Hey, I’ve seen the way people look at you when you’re working,” Phil says, his tone serious, his face joking. “You could pull anyone in that place if you tried.”

“Says  _you,_ ” Dan mutters, but he feels a warm, pulsating orb of happiness deep in his chest.

“Anyway, so I’ll give you more details later in the week,” Phil tells him, bright and happy again, all traces of the pink on his cheeks having evaporated. “Stuff like the code to the front door, and the names of my houseplants, and how to work the TV and stuff. But seriously, you’re a lifesaver, Dan.”

_Winston, Susan, Katie, and Totoro_ , Dan thinks privately. Those are the houseplants’ names. If Phil wants, Dan could provide him with the names of all his family members too. Or the breed of dog he’s considering adopting one day. 

“It’s really not a big deal,” Dan says before he does anything as stupid as revealing his ‘Phil Trash Number One’ status. He’s already thinking about how wonderful it will be to just walk up the road to Phil’s building after his long Saturday night shift, and fall into a comfortable King Sized bed. “Happy to do it.”

The next thing Dan knows, he’s being wrapped in two, ridiculously thick, big arms, and tackled to the cushions at his back. As he struggles to get free of Phil’s hold, Dan wonders whether his life is, at present, a dream or a nightmare.

*

Dan just about has enough time after leaving Phil’s to catch a bus to his place, change into some different clothes, then get the bus back to the bar. He’s ten minutes late, technically, but Tyler’s no better, so he gets away with it.

Technically speaking, Tyler is his boss, as he’s the bar manager, but they both know that they’re really a team. Dodie and Lara are the newbie staff, and they don’t see a difference in authority between Dan and Tyler. Most importantly, the jobs get done, and the money is made and counted up at the end of the night. Tyler and Dan have been doing this for years, so it’s rare that anything goes wrong. Sure, they bicker about who has to mop up the vomit, and who has to change the barrels, but most of the time they work well together, and get along.

As Tyler swans in to the bar this afternoon, Dan can tell that something is off with him. “Hey,” he calls out as he dusts the liquor bottles behind the bar.

Tyler doesn’t respond, he just stalks across to the staff room. He doesn’t even bother to go inside, he just opens the door, throws his coat and bag in there, and slams it shut behind him.

“All men are fucking  _dickshits_!”

Dan raises his eyebrows. “Uh, not sure that’s the message we’re striving to convey at Habenero’s.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Tyler hisses, rolling up his silken shirt sleeves. The action is telling; Ty would never usually crease his designer shirt in such a way. “The gay community is toxic. I hate this bar, I hate Brighton, I hate my life.”

“Who's the poor lad you’re trying to hook your claws into this time?” Dan asks; it’s immediately evident that this is the wrong thing to say.

“Dan, do not project your lame little pining love drama with a D-List celebrity onto me just because you’re too dumb to see what’s actually going on.”

For a moment, Dan is thrown, not sure what to make of Tyler’s jibe. He’d expected Tyler to just tell him to piss off, but this seems oddly specific. He glances across at Dodie, who is watching Tyler with wide eyes, halfway through setting up the DJ booth.

If Dan didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to send him a warning glance.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dan asks.

Dodie casts her worried gaze at Dan, then quickly turns away. He watches her suspiciously, then turns to Tyler again. He’s messing around in the cupboard where they keep the stereo controls, hooking up his phone to the dock and skipping through various songs as they burst from the speakers overhead.

Dan steps down from the stool on which he’s standing, throws his cloth to the bar, and stalks over to where Tyler is. 

He jabs Tyler in the shoulder. “Ty. What are you trying to say?”

Tyler whirls to face him, cheeks red. “Look, Dan, you have to wake up. You’re being taken advantage of.”

“What?”

Tyler sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “I was hoping you’d figure this out for yourself, honestly. I mean, it’s painfully obvious to everyone except you.”

“Nice to know I’m apparently the gossip of the bar at the moment,” Dan says, feeling his blood start to boil.

“Well what do you expect?” Tyler asks, rolling his eyes. “This is a gay club. All we do is bitch, you know that. And when one of the bartenders of the biggest gay club in Brighton starts hanging out with a fucking gay Instagram icon, we’re hardly going to be discussing the latest episode of  _RuPaul._ ”

“Right,” Dan huffs, getting even more annoyed now. “So what is it, then? What am I so apparently blind to?”

Tyler opens his mouth, but seems to catch himself before speaking. His eyes soften, regarding Dan in front of him, and he sighs. His shoulders slacken, and his fists unclench.

“Dan…” his voice has a pitying quality to it that sets Dan’s teeth on edge. “He’s stringing you along.”

“Who, Phil?” Dan asks, bewildered. “What do you mean? It’s not like that-”

“Yeah, it’s not like that,” Tyler interrupts, rolling his eyes like he’s heard it all before. “But he’s in here three times a week to keep you hoping that one day it might be.”

Dan snorts. “I’m not delusional, Ty. Okay yeah, I have a crush on him, but I don’t  _actually_  think he’s interested. Besides, weren’t you the one who told me I should be holding out hope?”

“At first I thought you should!” Ty exclaims. “I thought he liked you, that maybe he was playing a hard-to-get game or something. But it just keeps going on and on. Why isn’t he doing anything about it if he fancies you? You’re obviously into him, and he knows that. What’s the point in fucking you around?”

“I’m out of his league,” Dan says, because to him, this is obvious. Charlie had even said as much to him, not long ago. “He’d never go for someone like me.”

“That’s complete bullshit.” Tyler jabs a finger at him. “If you like someone, you like them. It doesn’t matter about their job, or how much money they have, or their  _age_ -”

Tyler breaks off, flushing. Dan’s brow furrows - their  _age_? He and Phil are only four years apart in age. That’s honestly never seemed to matter in the slightest, to either one of them. What’s Tyler on about?

“Anyway, the point is,” Tyler presses on, the words falling from his mouth in a tumble. “Even if he does have a bit of a soft spot for you, he’s being a dick about it. He’s flirting non-stop, putting ideas in your mind. He invites you over to sleep on his couch for fuck’s sake. Would you do that to someone you knew had a big fat crush on you?”

The image from Phil’s Instagram Story bullets into his brain, suddenly. Phil’s lips pressed to his cheek. The caption ‘#PHAN’. When Dan had first seen it, it had sent shivers up his spine, it had made him glow with happiness. Now, it seems cruel. What could Phil’s reason have been to post it, especially if one factors Charlie into the equation.

“He’s using you,” Tyler says quietly. “It’s the same thing he does with that brainless pretty-boy dick he comes here with. Posting photos of them together, titillating his fans with an are-they-aren’t-they romance, riling them up to get more likes.”

“We’re friends,” Dan says, though he doesn’t manage to convince even himself. 

“Maybe,” Tyler says. “But he knows you like him, and he’s still stringing you along, even though he arguably has a boyfriend. He’s just gonna keep you on edge, primed for the moment he turns round and ‘sees’ you for the first time, ‘ _She’s All That’-_ style. But it won’t happen, Dan. You need to see that it won’t happen, and that if you keep hanging out with him like this, staying at his house, letting him kiss you for his profile photos, buying you drinks… you’re just gonna be miserable.”

The words have left Dan’s mouth, indefinitely. His mind swirls with the lights across the floor and walls, dizzying. Tyler’s words reverberate around his mind, crashing into the walls of the secret, tiny shrine of hope he’d built, until they one by one crumble to dust on the floor.

_He’s using you._

Crash.

_You’re gonna be miserable._

Crash.

_He’s stringing you along._

Crash, crash, crash

For some reason, there’s a stinging sensation in Dan’s eyes. He takes a step backwards, away from Tyler. “I… yeah. Cool. I have to go change the barrels.”

“I changed them after we closed on Saturday,” Tyler says, confused. Dan ignores him, heading for the cellar in a slow, dazed movement. “Dan, wait, I’m sorry. I’m pissed off, I shouldn’t have said any of that. You know what I’m like when I’m moody, don’t be upset. Phil’s a nice guy! I like him, I’m just concerned- Dan! Please?”

Vaguely, as he closes the cellar door behind himself, Dan hears Tyler cursing under his breath. In the cold, damp darkness of the cellar, Dan slides down the closed door, not caring that as his bum touches the concrete, the rivulets of beer escaping from the barrels soak into his jeans.

He feels so stupid. Everyone could see how ridiculous he was being, this whole time. Even Phil must have seen how desperately, how pathetically Dan pines for him. Tyler’s right, why else would Phil stick around him? Dan being a superfan is easy to manipulate into something that will get Phil a bigger audience. If Phil plays along, the fans will grab at it, will see Dan as an exciting new contender for Phil’s love interest. Perhaps they’ll turn it into some crazy three-way love triangle between him and Charlie, kind of like in Dan's warped sex dream.

He swallows down a lump in his throat, too angry at himself to cry. He’s a pawn in a professional fame-game he doesn’t know the rules for, unwittingly being used as a plot device in the AmazingPhil reality show. He digs his phone out of his pocket, and checks his Instagram profile.

**Followers**   
_123,455_

The number glides over his skin, meaningless. “Welcome to the world of fake fame,” Dan mutters to himself, then forces himself to stand. He switches off his phone, grimacing.

No time to deal with any of this now, anyway. Over the next eight hours, Dan has to suspend his own drama-filled life, in favour of the hundreds of other gays, with their own squabbles and heartbreaks and drunk mistaken hookups. 

He can deal with this alone, later, back in his bed across the city, far away from the bar, and the roaring sea, and Phil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Monday!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know, Dan. It’s my fault, I threw you in the deep end with all this stuff.” Phil smiles at him. “I forget sometimes that being friends with me isn’t as simple as it used to be. I come with a twin. His name’s AmazingPhil, and he’s kind of a jerk. Causes all sorts of trouble.”
> 
> Dan laughs at the analogy, shrugging one shoulder. “I kinda like him.”
> 
> “He likes you too,” Phil says, winking again.

“Thanks again for doing this, Dan. It’s really nice of you,” Phil is saying, though Dan is barely listening. He’s typing the various codes and instructions Phil had reeled off a moment ago into the notes of his phone, but mostly he’s trying to keep himself from looking Phil in the eye.

“It’s really not a problem,” Dan says, shrugging. He pockets his phone, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Your flat is, like, ten times nicer than mine. Not to mention super close to the bar.”

Phil smiles, though he still looks abashed. Perhaps Dan should invite him round to his shitty Kemptown flat one day, then Phil might feel less guilty for asking Dan to house-sit.

“I’m gone until Wednesday,” Phil informs him, grabbing a jacket from the row of hooks nearby. “I’ll be back around midday, probably jetlagged and grumpy as hell, so you might wanna steer clear of me.”

Phil laughs, and Dan infers that this is Phil’s polite way of asking him to be gone by Wednesday lunch time. “Got it. I should have everyone out of here by then.”

Phil pauses, one arm in one sleeve, an adorable frown caught on his befuddled face. “Who out of where?”

“Oh, all the hundreds of people I’ll be inviting round for a week-long orgy.”

Dan’s straight face seems to catch Phil off guard for a split second, and then he laughs, giving himself away. Phil dissolves into laughter with him, tongue caught between his teeth.

“Just put a cover over the couch, yeah? It’s velvet. Stains easily.”

“Ooft, no promises.” Dan jokes back. His heart pangs as the easy banter slips off his tongue.

Doing this jokey back and forth with Phil used to be fun. It used to excite him, how effortlessly they could buffet off one another’s humour; now, in the wake of Tyler’s words the other day, it’s just painful. This ‘friendship’ with Phil had once seemed like a miracle. Now all Dan can see is a pretence. He hasn’t told Tyler about the fact that Phil has asked him to stay in his flat, because it just seems further proof that Phil is only using him.

But Dan’s weak, and he couldn’t refuse Phil anything if he tried.

“...and I’ll call and check in now and then just to make sure you’re okay,” Phil is saying, Dan realises with a start. He nods, trying to show he’s been listening, and Phil beams at him, jacket zipped up. “So, see you in a week then, I guess!”

Dan’s about to go in for a safe handshake, but then Phil is wrapping an arm around him, his other hand on the handle of his suitcase. He squeezes Dan tight, and Dan lets out a sound that he hopes is muffled by the broad, warm chest he’s smushed against.

He’s released after a moment, and he’s pretty sure he’s bright red. He nods, taking a swift step backwards. “Y-yep, see you. Have fun in the Maldives.”

Phil rolls his eyes, making an ‘ugh’ sound. “Not likely.”

It seems a bizarre reaction, but Dan is used to Phil speaking about his work with distaste at this point. Dan tries to stave off judgement, but it’s difficult to view these eye rolls and grimaces as anything other than ungrateful. Phil is going to spend a week pouting for a camera on a beach in the blazing sunshine. Dan is going to spend this week sweating behind a bar, then crawling home to someone else’s sofa to eat his weight in crisps and fall asleep.

“Well, uh, send me some pics,” Dan says, not sure what else to say. For whatever reason, the idea of this seems to perk Phil up.

“I will!” He gives Dan a small wave as he opens the door, and then, right before it closes, he blows a kiss. “By-eee!”

The door clicks shut behind him, and Dan stares at it for a moment, replaying that kiss in his mind. “Bye,” he whispers to nobody.

*

Friday nights are karaoke, and it usually gets a little messy. The gays love to sing, and with a few drinks in their system, they’re practically unstoppable. More often than not, the hardest part of the evening is dragging them off stage when it’s closing time.

With the help of Matt, Dan manages to boot the last few out of the door, and sighs in relief. Now there’s just a final clear up to do, and he can wander down the road to crash at Phil’s. He grabs a rag and starts wiping down the bar.

“Dodie, could you switch the music off?” Dan calls.

“On it!”

“Lara, would you grab a mop? I think the guy’s bathroom could use a once over.”

“Already did it, Dan!”

Dan lifts a smile to her, impressed. She’s sealing the mop and bucket back in the cleaning cupboard already. “Thanks, you’re a star.”

“What shall I do, boss?”

Dan turns to face Tyler, who is smiling sheepishly at him from the other end of the bar. “You’re as much of a boss as I am, Ty. Figure your own jobs out.”

It comes out a little bit colder than he intends it to, but Tyler is undeterred. “Don’t equate such lowly peasants with yourself, boss!”

Tyler scoots close, then grabs the rag from Dan’s hand. “Hey!” Dan exclaims.

“Let me do that,” Ty says, still beaming. “You’re tired. Go home, I’ll lock up.”

“It’s my turn,” Dan points out.

“Pfft,” Tyler say, swiping the rag through the air. “I don’t mind. Besides, I’ve got Dodie and Lara to help me.”

Dan sighs, wanting to protest. He knows this is Tyler’s way of apologising for what he said about Phil the other night, but it makes Dan uncomfortable. Sure, Tyler had said some things Dan didn’t exactly want to hear, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have said them. His apologies are unnecessary.

“Fine,” Dan says, exasperated. “But I’m locking up tomorrow.”

Tyler holds the rag up, and places his other hand over his heart. “Scout’s honour.”

Dan shoots him a tight smile, then squeezes out from behind the bar. He crosses the dancefloor to the staff room and gathers his things. As he’s coming out, he notices Tyler and Dodie in a deep discussion that ends abruptly when they spot him.

Wanting to groan, Dan shakes his head at them. “Guys, I’m not a fucking idiot okay, I know you’re talking about me.”

“It’s just…” Dodie swallows, her eyes darting to Tyler’s briefly. “We’re worried. Are you okay? You’ve been really quiet since…”

She trails off.

“Since I shoved my foot in everything and tore you to pieces for just having a crush,” Tyler finishes. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Ty, you’ve apologised literally like fifty times,” Dan reminds him, already pulling on his jacket.

“I know but… I just don’t want you to think that anything I said was anything except me lashing out because of my own love troubles,” Tyler says, walking over to him. “I don’t think Phil is intentionally being a dick to you. I just let all the gossip from the bar filter into my brain.”

“We’re just worried,” Dodie says again, biting her thumb.

“Well, that’s all very sweet,” Dan says, sighing. “But you don’t have to worry anymore. You were right in a way, it’s not very healthy for me to be so… close to him. I’m distancing myself for the time being.”

Technically,  _technically_ , there’s a lot of distance between he and Phil right now. Over 5,000 miles, in fact. This probably doesn’t count, however. After all, he saw Phil earlier on today, and will probably be texting him from his very own couch later on. Dodie and Tyler don’t need to know this, though.

Dan watches with mild despair as the two of them exchange one of their long, loaded glances; it’s filled with unspoken concern.

“Okay, I’m off,” Dan announces before either of them can verbalise it. He gives a brief wave, then heads for the door. “See you gays tomorrow.”

“Wait, Dan-” Tyler begins to say, but Dan just throws him another dismissive wave.

“Bye!” He calls, then wrenches open the door and steps out into damp morning chill.

*

Phil has every season of  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_  on DVD, along with all of  _Game of Thrones_ , every Studio Ghibli movie, and most Marvel films. Once he’s let himself into Phil’s flat, checked the houseplants, removed his jacket and shoes, and made a de-stress cup of tea, Dan kneels before Phil’s collection. He’s down there for a good ten minutes before settling on  _Captain America_  as his choice for a wind-down film.

He pops it in the DVD player and loads it up, then settles into Phil’s deliciously comfy couch to watch. As the opening credits roll, he snaps a photo of his hand holding the mug of tea, the film’s title screen in the background. He dithers, unsure whether to post it to his newly popular Instagram. His overtired brain is too mushy to think about it too much, so he slaps a warm filter on it, and posts it with the caption:

_cap’s helping me wind down after a long shift_

It immediately starts being hit with likes and comments, which is too much for Dan to comprehend right now, so he just locks the phone and shoves it in his pocket. He’ll read the comments tomorrow.

Dan’s just getting to the bit where Chris Evans’ CGI skinny body is being pumped up into his muscly self, when his phone trills. Confused, Dan pauses the film and reaches for it. Phil’s name stares out from the screen. He swipes it immediately, already bolt upright with concern.

“Hello?”

“Hey!”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything’s great,” Phil says. “Just checking in.”

Dan had been expecting a sombre, possibly urgent tone; contrarily, Phil seems to be his usual, chipper self. Dan checks the time on his phone, frowning. It’s 3am, meaning it’s 7am in the Maldives.

Dan rubs his eyes. “It’s so early.”

“Oh, crap, did I wake you up? I just thought ‘cause of your Instagram post that you’d be chilling after work, sorry.”

“No, I mean it’s early for you.”

“Oh,” Phil says, laughing. “Nah, this is when I have to get up for my shoot. The best light for beach photos is sunrise.”

“Oh,” Dan says, surprised. He never thought about that. “God, that must suck. Aren’t you jetlagged?”

“Super jetlagged!” Phil laughs again. “I’m used to doing shoots half asleep, don’t worry.”

“Have some coffee,” Dan suggests.

“I’ll definitely be trying to wrangle some caffeine from somewhere,” Phil agrees. His tone of voice suggests that it doesn’t look promising. “So, how’s your first night in the flat going?”

Dan glances around himself. “It’s, uh, quiet.”

“Hmm, yeah,” Phil says. “It can get pretty lonely there.”

This makes Dan frown. Phil has never mentioned being lonely before. “It’s cool, I’ve got Cap and Bucky to keep me company.”

“Ah, yes! Are you watching  _Civil War_?”

“No, just the first one.”

“Awesome,” Phil says emphatically. “Well, enjoy the not-so-subtle gay undertones. I’d better get to the beach.”

“You poor soul,” Dan says sarcastically, which makes Phil laugh.

“Get to bed soon, okay? I know Chris Evans’ abs look really good on my obnoxiously large TV, but you’re working tomorrow.”

Dan chuckles. “Yes mum.”

“Night, young man.”

“Morning, you mean.”

“Hah, I guess you’re right. I’ll check in tomorrow, sweet dreams!”

“Oh, you don’t have to check in tomorrow if-”

The line goes dead, and Phil is gone. Dan blinks down at his phone, slightly thrown by the conversation. It’s difficult to believe that Phil is so concerned about the wellbeing of his houseplants that he’d call Dan the first morning of his trip. Now that Dan thinks about it, Phil hadn’t even asked about the houseplants.

An overwhelming fatigue throws itself over Dan suddenly, and he yawns, throwing his phone to one side, where it continues to blink with Instagram notifications. He should really switch those off. He blinks at the TV, eyes already growing heavy; he’s sure he won’t make it to the end of the movie.

With a hefty amount of willpower, Dan switches off the TV and heads to Phil’s room to grab the duvet. As he’s pulling the heavy quilt from the mattress however, he pauses, arms aching with the weight of it already. Would it really be so bad to take up Phil’s offer of just falling into the bed?

It will undoubtedly be weird, and he’ll probably hate himself for it tomorrow morning, because he’ll spend the whole of the next day (week, month, and year) dreaming about exactly how Phil’s bed feels and smells. But he’s exhausted, and it looks far more inviting than the couch right now.

Before he can argue himself out of it, Dan is shimmying off his jeans, pulling his t-shirt over his head, and crawling into the tantalisingly soft cocoon of the bed. He actually moans; these sheets feel divine against his skin. They’re probably Egyptian cotton or something. Dan would take longer to think about it, but he closes his eyes, and falls instantly asleep.  

*

Two hours before they are due to close on Saturday, at around 3am, a girl approaches the bar. She is pretty and slim, with a short, tight dress on and long dangly earrings. She’s wearing red lipstick and her hair is bleach blonde. Not wanting to judge prematurely, Dan gives her his usual customer-service smile; in the back of his mind, however, he can’t help but note that this girl is very much not the type of customer that they usually get at Habenero’s.

In other words, she gives off a rather…  _heterosexual_  vibe.

“Hi,” the girl says, grinning at him. She leans forwards on the bartop, pushing out her boobs rather obviously. Dan raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. “A Malibu and Coke, please.”

“Sure,” Dan says, turning to make it.

“Actually,” she says, making him turn. “Make it a Diet Coke. I’m such a sugar fiend. Need to watch myself.”

Briefly, Dan looks her up and down. Her body is gorgeous, clearly the result of daily gym trips and a careful diet. A full-fat Coke wouldn’t even touch her skinny frame, and she knows it. He’s not in the mood to pander to her obvious attempt at fishing for compliments.

If she wants her ego stroked, she’s barking up the wrong tree.

“Don’t we all,” Dan says instead, and reaches for the soda hose.

The drink takes seconds to make, and he places it before her. “No straw?” She asks, smirking. “My lipstick is Dior. Can’t waste it on the rim of a glass, can I?”

Dan shrugs at her. “Sorry, we’ve introduced a no-straw policy at the club. Brighton’s a green city.”

For a moment, her smile wavers, but then it’s fixed back in place. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t think so.”

The scarlet lips form a perfect ‘o’. Her look of realisation seems ingenuine, like she’s performing a pre-rehearsed scene. “Oh my God! You’re AmazingPhil’s friend, right?” At the sound of his name, Dan freezes up. “David, is it? No, wait,  _Dan_!”

“Uh, I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Dan mutters, though he can feel the heat flood to his cheeks.

“Oh, don’t be coy!” She laughs, and then she’s got her arm on his shoulder; she’s leaning right over the bar to reach him, which looks awkward. “You’re the bartender he keeps posting about, right?”

“Could be,” Dan says vaguely.

“Yes, yes, it’s totally you! Gosh, you’re so much cuter in person.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He shifts awkwardly. “So, it’s five-fity for the Malibu and Diet Coke,” Dan tries to say, but she just laughs him off.

“So, oh my gosh,” she leans even closer somehow, a wry, knowing smile stretching her lipsticked mouth into a joker-ish smear. “Tell me. Is Phil just as cute in person too?”

Dan feels his cheeks warming. “Oh, um, I- I don’t know.”

“Aw, come off it. You have to admit he’s cute, right?” Her teeth are dazzlingly white as she grins at him; it’s mildly disconcerting in the low light.

“I guess,” Dan says. He looks around for another customer, trying to find an excuse to leave the conversation.

“And you guys met in Brighton? At this club?”

“...Yep.”

“So, like, you already knew who he was, right?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“You were a fan of him? You followed his Insta?”

“I, uh, well… yes, but-”

“I bet he was flirty.” She grins again, teeth blinding. “Does he flirt with you?”

“He’s kind of flirty, I suppose,” Dan admits, trying not to picture all the many, many times Phil has knocked the air from his lungs with an off-handed comment.

“Ooh,” she says, eyebrows wriggling. “That sounds intriguing. So go on, tell me, Dan. Is he good?”

“What do you mean?” Dan asks, stupidly.

“Oh, you know,” she says, and winks. “Is he good in bed? With that body, he probably doesn’t  have to be, yeah?”

“Wait what? That’s not- we’re not-” Dan stammers out, cheeks scarlet by this point.

“Right, right, you’re just friends,” she says, rolling her eyes. When they meet Dan’s again, she winks a second time. “Come on, Dan, I’m not an idiot. I mean, you’re staying in his house, right?”

Immediately, Dan’s hackles go up, and he pulls back from her. “How do you know that I’m… who are you?”

Suddenly a ruckus nearby captures Dan’s attention, and he turns to see Matt ploughing through the crowd and seizing another girl by the shoulders. This second girl, also blonde and in a skimpy outfit, is holding up a phone, obviously videoing Dan.

Dan gawps at the camera, then Matt plucks it from her hand. “Unsolicited filming of our staff is not permitted. Get out.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, we’re just asking him a few questions!” shouts at Matt. Her charming smile is gone now, and in its place is a ferocious snarl. “It’s perfectly within our rights to do that! He’s in the public eye, isn’t he?”

One hand on the filming girl’s shoulder still, Matt seizes Malibu-and-Diet-Coke-girl by her upper arm. “You’re out too, Princess. Highly doubt this is your sort of establishment anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Malibu-and-Diet-Coke-girl shouts, trying to break free of his grip.

“It  _means_ ,” Dan cuts in, anger starting to swirl in his blood as he processes the situation. “That we don’t throw a Pride parade every year just so you and your gaggle of plastic friends can paint on rainbows and find a GBF.”

“You heard him,” Matt says, beginning to frogmarch the two girls towards the exit.

“This is discrimination!” One of them shouts on their way.

“Must be so hard for you poor straight white girls,” Matt replies, ever the sarcastic one.

A few people gathered near the bar clap then, cheering as the girls depart.

“Nice one, mate,” Nick, one of their regulars, calls out to Dan. He nods, still embarrassed, and Nick approaches the bar. “She was out of order.”

“Yeah,” Dan says, mind still reeling. “I don’t get it, though. Why was she filming me?”

“Well, ‘cause you’re in with that good-looking model dude, right? She wants exclusive behind the scenes gossip for her own account, I’d imagine. Chicks like that are always after their ten minutes of fame, so they try guzzle it from other people.” Nick says; it kind of makes sense, except for the fact that some random girl thinks Dan is anywhere near important enough in Phil’s life for him to be harbouring any secrets about the man.

Nick takes hold of the Malibu and Diet Coke Dan made for the girl, the one he now realises she never paid for. Before Dan has a moment to be annoyed about it however, Nick pushes a tenner towards him. “For the drink. Nasty stuff, Malibu, but someone’s gotta drink it, eh?”

Dan smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks. I’ll grab you some change for it.”

“No need!” Nick calls out, making Dan pause.

“Nick, it’s only a five-fifty drink.”

“Yeah, well. We’re mates, aren’t we? Keep the tip.”

Dan’s eyes fall to the ten pound note in his hands. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, course!”

“Wow,” Dan says, taken aback. “That’s seriously good of you, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No worries!” Nick takes a sip of his drink, eyes darting around the room. “So… as I was sayin’. You and that Phil fella. That’s… a thing, right?”

“What?”

“The two of you are… gettin’ it on?”

Dan drops the ten pound note back onto the bar like it’s burning. “Is this a fucking bribe? Are you trying to get me to talk about Phil?”

“Aw, come on Dan, we’re mates, aren’t we?”

“You know what,” Dan grits his teeth, snatching the drink out of Nick’s hands. “I’m not your mate, and you can fucking hit the street with those other vultures.” Dan cups a hand to his mouth, and pushes up onto his tiptoes, scanning the crowd. “Matt! Got another one!”

“Dan, for fuck’s sake, you know me,” Nick says, annoyed. “Come on, you and the Insta dude are the hottest story in town right now! You can’t blame me for trying to get in on the goss!”

“What so you can tweet about some non-existent scandal for a few more followers?” Dan asks, disgusted. “Grow up.”

“Aw, come on, you know what it’s like in the gay world,” Nick fires back. “It’s fucking vicious out there! I’ve gotta stay relevant! I need to keep up-”

Dan just ignores him and turns away. He chucks the drink, glass and all, into the sink below the bar. In the background, he vaguely hears Nick protesting as Matt drags him away, but he can’t bring himself to turn and see it.

This is insane.

Never in his wildest imaginings did Dan think that people would actually seek him out and attempt to pry information from him just because he’s vaguely associated with a moderately famous Instagram account. That one girl had even filmed the entire exchange.

It makes Dan feel sick to his stomach. He leans over the sink, watching the broken shards of glass gleam and glint in the swirling disco lights. He’s trying, over the thump of the bass, to remember what he said to her. Whatever his answers had been to Malibu girl’s interrogating questions, they’re now saved to someone’s phone.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, making Dan jump. Tyler is beside him, looking concerned.

“Matt just told me what happened, are you okay?”

Dan nods, slowly. Then, he shakes his head. “They were filming me, Ty. What did I even say? It all happened so quickly, I-”

Tyler wraps him in a hug; it helps, a little. “Shh, don’t worry about that right now.”

“I’m gonna have to tell him,” Dan says, cold realisation dawning.

“Tell Phil? About the girls, you mean?” Dan nods into Tyler’s shoulder. “Maybe. But it’s okay, you won’t have said anything that bad, I’m sure. There’s nothing to tell, right?” Dan bites his lip. “They’re just some fame-whores trying to get a slice of the action behind the scenes. You can tell Phil about it in the morning. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Dan sighs, wanting him to be right. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll ring him in the morning or something.”

Tyler pulls back to look him in the eye. “Whatever you said, it won’t be anywhere near as bad as you think, I’m sure. And hey, Phil’s a nice guy. He’ll understand.”

Dan nods, trying to calm himself with the sure, solid gleam in Tyler’s eyes. “Okay.”

*

On Sunday afternoon, Dan wakes up in Phil’s bed to a flurry of notifications on his phone. His followers haven’t stopped climbing since that first night Phil put him in his story; now, Dan’s follower count is in the hundred-thousands.

He checks his last photo, which is the one with Captain America and tea from Friday night. It has forty thousand likes. He reads the comments, covers balled up in one fist from nerves.

_that’s phil’s place!! i recognise the rug!!! #phanisreal_

_dan is staying at phil’s!_

> _isn’t he in the maldives atm? dan must be housesitting :o_

_i’d know that hello kitty mug anywhere!! hows phil’s place treating u dan? ;) #phan_

  
He closes the app quickly, half wanting to delete the entire thing off his phone. These fans are bloodhounds, obsessed with a scent of some rumour they caught a whiff of. ‘Phan’ is such an alien concept to Dan, still. How can these followers even justify it to themselves? It’s preposterous to think that Dan and AmazingPhil are anywhere near on the same level, let alone in a secret romantic relationship.

“Oh, shit,” Dan mutters, his heart sinking. He clicks onto his missed calls, noting that he has five,  all from Phil.

He swallows, trying to remain cool. There are some texts too, all of which came through whilst he was sleeping.

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
hey can you call me when  
you get a sec pls xx

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
did something happen last  
night at the bar? im getting  
a lot of messages… xx

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
ok… wanna let me know why  
#phan is trending worldwide?

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
have u seen what that  
girl @lucyintheskaii posted  
on twitter?? there’s a video  
of you. did you tell ppl that  
ur staying at mine? how  
did she find u?

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
dan i need to talk to u  
ur probs asleep and i get  
tht but im gonna skype u  
at 2pm your time. x

By the time he gets to the final message, Dan’s heart is pounding against his chest. He hangs onto that one final kiss, despite the fact Phil usually ends his messages with two. He glances at the time at the top of the screen, and curses, loudly.

It’s 13:59pm.

Before he can do anything to prepare, his phone is buzzing in his hand, notifying him of a Skype call coming through. He thinks seriously about declining, as he’s on the verge of a panic attack, but he reluctantly comes to a decision that not facing up to this would be far, far worse.

He accepts the call, and watches in mild horror as his own sleep-crumpled face and bare chest fills the screen. Then, Phil’s camera bursts into life, and Dan’s own image is replaced by something far more pleasing to the eye. He braces himself for Phil’s anger, having no idea what that would even look like.  

“Phil, oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Dan blurts. “I should’ve called you last night when I got back from work and told you what happened, but Tyler convinced me I should wait until morning, and I was just so exhausted, and I convinced myself the thing with that girl wasn’t that big of a deal, but obviously you have every right to be mad, I was so stupid and-”

“Dan, hey, hold up,” Phil says, voice raised to be heard over Dan’s ramble. “Calm down, I’m not mad. Why would I be? I’m worried about you.”

Dan blinks. “Why?”

For some reason, this makes Phil laugh. “Because you were ambushed by some deranged fangirls! And it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Dan. I should never have said where you worked on my account. My fans are… intense.”

“Wait,” Dan says, confused. He sits up a little, trying to understand. “You’re not the one who needs to apologise. I said all that stuff to that girl! Her friend filmed it all. And she… did you say she put the video of it on Twitter? That’s awful, Phil, I’m such a fucking idiot, I-”

“Yeah,” Phil interrupts with a long sigh. “The Twitter video isn’t… ideal. But I’ve had literal nudes leaked before, Dan. I can handle you telling people I get a bit flirty IRL.”

Phil winks, and Dan blushes, partly because he’s only just now remembered telling that girl Phil is a flirt, and partly because he remembers the leaked nudes Phil is referring to. Not one of Dan’s proudest moments, searching the internet for those on incognito mode. He’d only found them once. And once was definitely enough; he’s not about to forget something like that.

“I guess,” Dan says, trying hard to focus on the situation at hand. “But I’m just so sorry for not realising what was happening, Phil. I should’ve known that girl was after something. I must’ve caused you so much stress.”

Phil shrugs. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He’s too nice, that’s the trouble. Dan stares at the pixelated version of this beautiful man, wishing he could reach out for Phil’s hand. Phil would probably take it; he’s not opposed to touchy-feely stuff, and if he knew how badly Dan needed physical reassurance right now, he’d do it, Dan’s sure. Phil’s sitting at a table outside, on what appears to be a balcony overlooking a white sandy beach. There’s a light breeze ruffling his hair, and the sun is setting behind him. He has his chin in one hand, and a tiredness in his eyes.

Dan imagines he can smell the salt spray blowing through Phil’s locks. Stupid, soppy words are on the tip of Dan’s tongue, about how gorgeous Phil looks in the soft evening light, or how much it means to Dan that Phil’s deigning to so much as speak to him after he was so stupid with that girl, but right then, a door slams, hard. It comes from somewhere on Phil’s end, and it’s muffled, but it still makes Dan jump.

Phil looks towards the noise, sighing.

“What was that?”

“Charlie. He’s pretty annoyed about… this.”

Something heavy and blunt falls into Dan’s stomach. “Oh. I didn’t know Charlie was with you.”

Phil glances back at the screen. “Didn’t I say?”

Dan shakes his head. He would have remembered that small detail, he’s sure. Though he guesses it makes a little more sense now that Phil picked him to house-sit, as opposed to asking Charlie.

“So, Charlie’s annoyed with me, then,” Dan deduces.

Phil shrugs. “I think Charlie’s annoyed with everyone most of the time. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“What’s he been saying?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Phil’s eyes avert from Dan’s.

From this small gesture alone, Dan can imagine exactly what Charlie’s saying.

_Why are you even associating with that rando from the bar?_

_This is what happens when you stoop to their level, Phil!_

_He’s got the hots for you, and he’s gonna make up some bollocks about how you’re secretly fucking to bump up his follower count even more!_

“Sorry I got you guys into a fight.”

Phil chuckles, but it sounds dark, hollow. “When are we not in a fight?”

So many words fight to push their way out of Dan’s throat. They want to scream that Phil is so much more than this, that he should realise his own worth and ditch Charlie for someone that deserves him. He swallows them down as best he can, creating a lump, the size of a boulder, in his throat.

Phil turns back to look at him, a sad smile on his face. Then, one eyebrow twitches, and he smirks. “Are you in my bed?”

Heat flames into Dan’s cheeks, and he attempts to pull the covers over his chest. “Fuck, sorry… I’ll wash the sheets and stuff-”

Phil is laughing, which cuts Dan off. “Dan, it’s okay. I said you could have the bed, didn’t I?”

“Well… yes, but-”

Phil yawns then, smiling sleepily at him. “You look cute under my covers. Wish I was there, to be honest.”

Dan’s heart spasms. He wonders if Charlie can hear what Phil’s saying, and whether Phil is only saying it to get a rise out of his boyfriend.

“It’s, um, very comfy. High thread count.”

Phil laughs again. “The thread count is top of my priorities.”

“So, is the shoot going okay and stuff?” Dan asks, wanting to move the subject into safer territory, so his heart rate can settle back into a human rhythm.

Phil shrugs. “It’s kind of difficult posing sexily on a beach with someone who currently hates my guts, but other than that it’s fine.”

Dan winces. “Is it that bad?”

“He’ll get over it.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Teleport me into the bed with you so we can watch Buffy and fall asleep?”

Another heart spasm. Another flush whipping into his cheeks. “Hah, I’ll…. see what I can do.”

There’s another door slam then, and Phil glances up, smile disappearing. “I’d better go.” He sounds reluctant. “I’ll call tomorrow, see how you’re holding up.”

“Okay,” Dan says. He shifts, still feeling guilty. “Seriously Phil, I don’t know how much of that video you saw, but… I’m sorry. I didn’t think. It won’t happen again.”

“I know, Dan. It’s my fault, I threw you in the deep end with all this stuff.” Phil smiles at him. “I forget sometimes that being friends with me isn’t as simple as it used to be. I come with a twin. His name’s AmazingPhil, and he’s kind of a jerk. Causes all sorts of trouble.”

Dan laughs at the analogy, shrugging one shoulder. “I kinda like him.”

“He likes you too,” Phil says, winking again. “It’s not your fault some girl attacked you over him though, Dan. You’re wonderful, okay? It’s everyone else who sucks.”

The corner of Dan’s mouth twitches. “Um, thanks. You… you too.”

“Enjoy your day off.” Phil waves. “Try not to worry about this. It’ll all blow over in two seconds anyway.”

“Okay,” Dan says, unsurely. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

The expression that flits across Phil’s face suggests that this is unlikely. “Thanks, Dan,” he says anyway, then blows a kiss, and is gone.

*

At around eight in the evening on Sunday, Charlie posts a photo to his Instagram account. Dan follows Charlie out of curiosity more than politeness, but he sees it in his feed, right at the top. It’s a photo of him and Phil, knee deep in the ocean, holding hands as they stare out towards the horizon.

Their silhouettes are perfect and symmetrical, their broad shoulders and tapered waists looking as if they’d been painted onto the streaky orange sky behind them. The picturesque image hits Dan like a punch to the stomach, dull and painful, winding him momentarily.

The caption reads:

_happy anniversary baby <3_

It’s been bombed with likes.

_omg i didnt know you guys had an anniversary today!!!_

_congratulations charlie and phil! u r couple goals!! #chil4eva_

_so happy for you both! give phil a kiss from me cha ;) xx_

_#netflixandchil later guys?! ;) <3_

A hot, stinging sensation burns in Dan’s retinas. He throws his phone to the couch, and doesn’t look at it again for the rest of the night.

*

Three more fame-hungry girls and nine more gossip-thirsty guys track Dan down over the course of Monday night. Tyler makes a sign for the bar counter that says ‘Want To Quiz The Bartender? Hope You Like The Taste Of Ass...phalt’, which helps a little, but doesn’t entirely ward off the AmazingPhil stans.

Dan just keeps his mouth clamped shut for the night. He’s not really in the mood to talk to anyone anyway. That photo of Charlie and Phil seems to be burned into the back of his mind; it’s there every time he so much as blinks, taunting him. He refuses to take his break halfway through his shift, sure that the photo will dance teasingly in front of his retinas for the whole twenty minutes.

It just makes so little sense. Phil had seemed beaten down by the weight of Charlie’s anger when he and Dan had Skyped last night. How is it that, hours later, they’re knee deep in the warm waves of a tropical beach, holding hands in celebration of their anniversary?

“Hey, you’re him right? Dan Is Not On Fire?” It’s a giggling pair of young guys this time, nudging each other forwards. “Phil is  _totally_  into you.”

The other one squeals, clapping a hand over the first one’s mouth. “Oh my God, I can’t believe my friend I’m so sorry.” He releases his hold on the other guy, laughing. “But seriously, we both ship Phan way more than Chil.”

It feels like a bolt in his chest, screwed too tightly, digging in just below Dan’s ribs. “Guys, do you wanna order something?”

“Oh, no, we’re seventeen,” one of them says, and the other one smacks him. “Shit, I shouldn’t’ve said that-”

“Matt!” Dan yells for what feels like the millionth time tonight. “Matt, get over here!”

“Wait, wait, can we just, like, get a selfie?” They’re snapping the photo before Dan can turn away, and he scowls at them both. “Thanks! Follow us on Insta!” They chirp, laughing, and are gone before Matt can push through the crowd.

Tyler throws a plastic cup after them, which Dan is grateful to him for. “We’re gonna need to hire more security at this rate.”

“It’ll blow over when Phil gets sick of me,” Dan says.

“Gets sick of you? He’s in here all the time!”

 _For now_ , Dan thinks privately.

He doesn’t reply out loud, he just turns to the next customer, who is, mercifully, just another regular. The realisation that Dan is coming to with the blow of each crushing Phil/Charlie couple photo, is that eventually Phil is going to seek out greener pastures.

Once he’s settled into Brighton, Phil will find his own social class of people to hang out with, people more like Charlie, that understand designer labels and spend their weekends at fancy  film premieres or in their second homes in Bali.

Up with the elite is where Phil belongs, even if Dan was able to tether him in the dirt for a while, playing Mario Kart and plying him with sugary alcoholic drinks. Dan is an ‘in-the-meantime’ friend, someone to pass the time with until he finds a better crowd. Someone to house-sit for him, and someone who doesn’t have a lot of free time, and is therefore low-commitment. There will come a time, Dan is sure, when he will once again be just a bartender to Phil. Sure, Phil will wave and chat when he comes into the bar, but they won’t hang out, and the fans that followed Dan out of curiosity will drop away like flies when they realise that Dan is simply… dull.

It will be difficult when it happens. But Dan won’t struggle against the current; he’s not stupid, and he’s been poor since he was a kid. He knows how society is separated into the wealthy and the not-so-much, and how the divide can rip through even the tightest of bonds.

He barely even knows Phil, still. There’s no doubt in Dan’s mind that one day, yet again he won’t know Phil at all besides the pictures that occasionally flash up on his phone.

*

On Tuesday morning, Dan wakes up earlier than usual. At first, he thinks it might be the seagull screeching right outside his window, but he’s lived in Brighton for years; it takes a lot of squawking to wake him.

He rolls over, still swathed like a baby in the thick covers of Phil’s bed, and immediately freezes, realising what it is that has woken him. There’s a body beside him, faced away. Even if Dan couldn’t recognise him by the shock of black hair, he’d know the bare, pale back, dotted with tiny freckles. He’d know the Emoji pyjama pants, and the shallow, even breaths that come out with a slight snore.

For a long, long time, Dan doesn’t move an inch. He just stares at the silhouette of the man he’s dreamed about laying next to for so, so long. He suspends his belief, and allows his mind to wander, to imagine that this is real, that Phil is his, and that he’ll roll over any second, give Dan a lazy smile, and kiss Dan’s world into colour.

None of this happens, obviously. So Dan just watches him, counting the minutes he gets to have this, and prays that it never ends. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m just Phil,” he says, drawing in on himself. “I spend most evenings on my sofa at home on my own, eating cereal out of the packet and playing Fallout 4. I don’t really like parties. Sometimes my agent makes me go, so I take a few pictures, post them to Instagram, steal some free food and leave without talking to anyone. I’m not cooler than anyone else, or happier, or more attractive.” Dan scoffs at this last one, and Phil raises an eyebrow. “It’s all FaceTune and Photoshop, Dan.”

In the two hours since he opened his eyes, Dan has barely moved an inch. He feels stuck, sure that if he rolls over, or lets himself fall back to sleep, the sight of Phil in bed beside him will dissolve, that he will reveal himself as a mere mirage born of Dan’s misery and exhaustion.

Then, Phil shifts, rolling over until he’s facing Dan. His wispy fringe, now so often pushed back into a stylish quiff, falls across his darkly circled eyes. Dan holds his breath, not sure what to do; he should get out of the bed, probably, before Phil rouses. Before he can make any such movement however, Phil’s eyes flutter, and peel open.

* * *

 

Like a frightened bunny caught in a tractor beam, Dan can only stare, frozen in position. Phil gives him a sleepy smile. 

“Hey,” he says around a yawn.

“H-hi,” Dan whispers.

Phil takes a deep breath, then sits up, stretching his arms high above his head. A sweep of dark, soft underarm hair is visible as he does it. Phil reaches for his glasses, slips them on, and slumps back against his headboard, staring at the far wall.

“Sorry I clambered into bed with you,” Phil says; his voice is lacking its usual vitality. “Personal space invasion. I was just so tired when I got in. Couldn’t be bothered to make up the sofa.”

“It’s ok,” Dan says, voice still a husk of itself. Having him here is surreal. Knowing that Phil had likely been on a plane home yesterday rather than clinking champagne glasses with Charlie, exchanging vows of love, is incredibly jarring. “You came back early.”

“Yeah, um.” Phil shifts, frowning. “Just decided to cut the trip short.”

“Were they annoyed?”

“Who?”

“The shoot people,” Dan says. “The brand, or whatever. They don’t mind you coming home?”

Phil sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “They probably aren’t too pleased. But they got what they needed, so they’ll have to get over it.”

There’s something off here. Phil would never normally be so dismissive. He’s a naturally considerate person, it doesn’t fit that he abandoned his job like this, leaving his employers to deal with the fallout. 

“And Charlie?” Dan tries, hoping for clarification.

The crease in Phil’s brow deepens, and his fingers come up to rub his temples. “Charlie will have to get over it too.”

Dan grapples for what to say. Being in bed beside Phil is incredibly confusing. It’s distracting to have him beneath the covers like this, their bare feet inches apart. Phil never wears a shirt to bed - or ever, if he can help it, apparently - so there are also abs and a smattering of chest hair to draw Dan’s attention away from whatever Phil is attempting to avoid discussing. Dan should probably leave, he decides, as whatever Phil is going through, it’s unlikely he’ll want his local bartender to badger him with questions. Especially if said bartender isn’t even offering any alcohol to loosen his tongue at present. He’s about to tell Phil he’ll be on his way, but at that moment, Phil throws the covers off himself and stands. He stretches again, arms reaching for the high ceilings.

The long valley of his spine threads through his shoulder blades, sluicing down the long taper of his back. The curve of his buttocks juts out just slightly where his pyjama trousers have slipped down. He pulls them up, much to Dan’s disappointment, and sighs heavily.

“I’m gonna go make some coffee.”

“Okay,” Dan says.

“Would you do me a favour and put my phone on charge? I didn’t want to unplug yours while you were sleeping.”

“Oh, sorry, of course,” Dan says, embarrassed that Phil had had to come home to not only his bed being stolen, but also his plug socket. Phil hands the phone to him with a tight smile, then disappears out of the door.

Only once Phil’s frame has disappeared from sight is Dan able to relax, if marginally. He feels the breath slip once more from his tight lungs. He reaches to unplug his phone from the charger, then puts Phil’s in its place. As he’s doing this, the phone buzzes in his hand.

He doesn’t mean to look, but he catches sight of the screen. It’s filled with text notifications. All of them are from Charlie.

 **From: Charlie  
To: Phil**  
ffs phil u can’t just run away  
from a fight like that its   
childish. ring me when you  
land.

 **From: Charlie  
To: Phil**  
im tracking your flight phil  
i know you’re back in   
england.

 **From: Charlie  
To: Phil**  
lemme guess first stop is   
that shitty bar? oh wait its  
not open yet. better call  
up twink boy. you’re   
pathetic! ring me now.

Something smashes in the kitchen, and the noise makes Dan drop Phil’s phone to the bedside table. 

“Dropped a mug, sorry!” 

Phil’s voice is just enough to placate him, but Dan’s heart is still hammering, just from reading the words. Charlie is angry that Phil left, it would seem. Does that mean they  _aren’t_  made up, as Charlie’s anniversary photo made it appear?

Chastened by his own snooping, Dan opens his own phone, clicking straight to Instagram, where another flurry of notifications attack him. He’s gained a buttload of new followers, he notices, more than he usually accumulates overnight. He clicks onto Phil’s profile mostly out of habit, not really expecting him to have updated it considering he’s been on a ten-hour flight, and then asleep.

To Dan’s surprise, he has, in fact, updated his story.

It’s a strange thing, to see oneself sleeping. But that is what Dan is confronted with as he opens Phil’s story. It’s a short video, taken by Phil as he walks into his bedroom, the camera shaky as he approaches the bed in the low morning light; beneath the covers, a lump of messy hair and skinny limbs, is Dan.

The caption provided is: 

_aww, should I wake him?_

The next snap, as Dan clicks on, is of Phil on his back in bed, Dan beside him, still sound asleep. There’s a fond smile on his Phil’s face as he stares into the camera. The caption reads: 

_decided not to be cruel. sweet dreams @danisnotonfire <3 #phan_

At once, Dan feels his chest tighten. A surge of frustration pushes his hands into fists, and he feels his eyes start to sting. The thick, heavy covers of Phil’s bed press against his chest, pushing him into the mattress. He feels like he’s being swallowed by the softness, suddenly, pulled into a quilt-swamp from which he’ll never emerge. He throws the covers off himself in a flustered panic, his entire body scalding.

Before he knows it, he’s up, pulling on the clothes he’d thrown over the back of Phil’s chair last night, and gathering his belongings. He hadn’t brought much, just his phone charger, his laptop, and a few changes of clothes. He shoves it all into his bag, that clip of him sleeping playing on a loop in his mind, putting him on autopilot.

He slings the sealed bag over his shoulder, and heads into the living area; Phil is already walking towards him, two mugs in his hands. He looks Dan up and down, eyes wide with surprise.

“You’re dressed,” he says, as if Dan hadn’t realised.

“Yes. I’m going.”

“Going? You don’t have to leave,” Phil says. The mugs are still held at chest height, wisping steam into the air. “I made you a coffee.” 

“I don’t like sugar in my coffee,” Dan blurts, for some reason. Phil looks down at the Hello Kitty one, frowning.

“Oh, okay… I can make you another one-”

“No,” Dan interrupts. It comes out rather blunt, but he can’t help it. He hitches his bag up his shoulder. “Stop being so nice to me. Stop inviting me over and offering me your bed and giving me coffee and pizza and telling me how cute I am.”

“What? Dan-”

“It’s not fair,” Dan says; he can feel the stinging in his eyes again. “Tyler was right, it’s not fair of you to do this to me. I’m not just some random guy you can use to fuel gossip from your fans.”

“I’m not doing that!” Phil cries; his expression is wounded enough that Dan might have just stabbed him in the leg. “You’re my friend, Dan.”

“Friends don’t crawl into bed with each other!” The words are out before Dan can stop them. “Friends don’t film each other sleeping for views!”

A blush flings itself onto the crest of Phil’s knife-edge cheekbones. “Fuck, I didn’t mean... that’s not why I did that. I was half asleep when I updated last night, I didn’t think. I should’ve asked you.” 

Frustration and hot, embarrassed hurt prevents Phil’s explanation from getting under his skin like it usually might. Dan just holds his ground, fist tightening around the strap of his bag.

“Hashtag-Phan? It’s just an obvious stunt!” Dan cries, cheeks aflame. “What am I, just some adoring loser you’re using to boost your follower count? Did you come home early to catch me sleeping in your bed so you could snap selfies of us and rile up the fans?” 

“ _No_ ,” Phil stresses, the coffee spilling over one of the mugs. “No, not at all!”

“When I posted a selfie and the fans worked out I was staying here I felt  _awful_.” Dan reminds him. “I could’ve filmed a behind-the-scenes tour of AmazingPhil’s penthouse suite if I wanted. It would’ve gotten me ten times the followers I have now. But I didn’t! Because I would never use you for something so vapid and superficial! It’s all meaningless!”

“I know,” Phil says, quietly. “Dan, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to use you like that, or publish anything you felt uncomfortable with. I just didn’t think about it. I got in, and I was so exhausted, and I just thought it’d be a cute, funny post.” 

A pang of guilt pulsates quietly beneath Dan’s ribs, but he ignores it, too worked up, still. 

“Look… I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Dan hesitates, not quite sure if he is able to make it through this speech. “We both know I don’t fit into your glamorous life. Charlie made that pretty clear.” 

“My life isn’t glamorous,” Phil says, absurdly. “Don’t believe everything you see on social media.”

Dan barks a laugh. “What are you on about? You just flew home from the  _Maldives_! I can see your tan, for God’s sake! I’ve seen the five-star hotels you stay in, all the glitzy celebrity parties you go to, the designer clothes and the gifts. I spend most of my days sweating behind a bar until the early hours, getting my ass pinched and beer spilled on me. Your life is a fucking dream compared to mine.”

“Dan,” Phil sighs, moving to place the mugs down on a nearby surface. He runs two hands through his dark hair, eyes falling shut for a moment. “Those are just the bits I post on Instagram.”

“Well, you update pretty regularly, so.” 

“Yeah, so sue me,” Phil snaps. It takes Dan by surprise. “My job is to make my life look perfect. Do you think I’d get any likes if I filmed myself practically ripping my hair out of its follicles as I try to get the gross goo out of it before my photographer kills me for being late to the next shoot? Do you think any sponsors would be interested in the dopey moron who accidentally catches two wrong buses across Seoul on the way to his studio because he doesn’t speak the language or know the way?”

Dan blinks in surprise at this, not having heard either of these stories from Phil before this moment. He’s only spoken of his trip to Korea with rapture until now. 

“I spend most of my days in this huge, empty flat, alone because my agency forced me to pack up and move from Manchester to Brighton,” Phil continues, voice a little choked now. “I’m hundreds of miles away from all of my friends and family, in a city I’ve never even been to before now. PJ and Martyn came down to visit once, but I don’t know anyone here except for Charlie. And now you.”

Dan deflates a little; there’s a lot of information to unpack in everything Phil just said, but he still feels too upset to attempt it right now. There’s no way he can be duped into feeling sorry for Phil, with his bundles of cash he can spend on a whim, and his random opportunities to jet off to exotic countries for ‘work’. 

“Look, I just… I can’t deal with this anymore.” Dan’s head is starting to pound; it feels like a migraine on its way, and wow wouldn’t that be the icing on this shitcake. “Let’s just go back to how things were.”

The look Phil directs at him is enough to splinter a crack down Dan’s heart. 

“How things were?” 

“Yeah, just... you be the superstar, I’ll be the fan, okay? Like it should be.” 

Dan swallows a big and angry rock formation lodged in his throat, and he forces himself to move. He pushes past Phil towards the door, and Phil doesn’t stop him. 

“It’s better this way, trust me,” Dan says, pausing before he leaves. 

Phil doesn’t say anything, then. He doesn’t even move, or look at Dan as he dithers by the door. So, before he does something stupid like hurl himself at Phil’s feet and beg forgiveness, Dan ducks out of the door before he starts bawling.

*

When Dan gets home, Phil has deleted the video and photo of Dan from his Instagram story. A hundred people are messaging Dan, asking what it means, if there’s something going on between he and Phil, along with a thousand other questions.

In a fit of hurt and annoyance, Dan deletes the app from his phone. It’s only afterwards, stewing in his own tumultuous emotions, that he realises that he has, in all likelihood, severed the only tie he had left to Phil.

*

“You said  _what_  to that poor man?!” Tyler’s screech is practically inhuman.

Rolling his eyes at the dramatic response, Dan pushes past Tyler to get to the Hendricks. “I don’t wanna go over it all again, Ty. Can we just pretend like none of this ever happened, please? I never met Phil, nor did you, he’s just some random Instagram celebrity with a pretty face and a nice smile. Capiche?”

“Um, absolutely not!”

Dan pours the two gin and tonics he’s been asked to make and slams them down on the bar, a little too aggressively. The customer looks startled, so Dan mumbles an apology, and takes the money from them.

Tyler corners him as he goes to deposit the cash in the register. “Dan, I think you should apologise to him.”

“What?!” Dan slams the drawer of the cash register closed. “You’re the one who pointed out how selfish he was being in the first place! You have to admit that filming me  _asleep_  and tagging it with our stupid fan-made ship name is a shitty thing to do.”

Tyler shrugs. “So what if it was? He’s just a guy, Dan. A guy who has to make a living from this stupid social media stuff.”

“He’s using me!”

“You’re using him too, arguably.”

Dan huffs in indignation. “I am not!”

“We’ve used his image for publicity at the bar,” Tyler points out; Dan opens his mouth to interject that  _he had no part in that thanks very much_ , but Tyler holds up a hand to keep him quiet. “I know, I know, it was me that made the posters, but you still went along with it. And you’ve used him to get followers, too.”

Dan scoffs. “I never asked for any followers!  _Or_  creepy fans that stalk me to the bar and give me the fucking Spanish Inquisition.”

“Such a drama-gay,” Tyler sighs. He looks over Dan’s shoulder, and inclines his head. “Off you pop, there’s customers waiting to be served. We’re not done discussing this, Daniel.”

Dan turns, shoulders slumping, and prays that whoever these new customers are, they’re not Phil-fans looking for another scoop to plaster all over their Twitter timelines. As he walks away, Tyler calls his name, and Dan turns, reluctantly.

“Remember that you’re a bit of a hothead. You jump to conclusions,” Tyler tells him, raising an eyebrow. “And this thing you stumbled on with Phil is crazy rare. I just think it’d be nuts to throw it away because he thought you looked cute under his covers.”

Tyler swans off before Dan can think of a way to respond. As he serves his next round of customers, the blush on his cheeks refuses to disappear.

*

“Hey, you’re danisnotonfire, right?”

Not having the strength to conjure up a refusal, Dan just nods. “Little did I know that my old 90′s randomcore username would come back to haunt me so drastically.”

“...right,” the young boy asking says, glancing at his friends unsurely. “So, like, can I buy you a drink?”

He knows it’s a bribe, and that this kid is just hoping to pry information about Phil out of him. But Dan is exhausted, and angry, and upset. He shouldn’t do this, and Tyler might be annoyed, but he is tired of doing the right and sensible thing.

“Why not,” Dan says, after a fleeting moment of deliberation. “Tell you what, lets all do some shots.”

*

He does many, many shots. Far too many, in fact. 

At around the seventh, Tyler pulls him aside and tells him enough is enough. “A little bit of a tipple to get your buzz on is fine, Dan. But getting hammered three hours before your shift ends is not.”

“’m fiiine,” Dan insists, pulling free of him. “Hav’a shot, Ty. You’ll feel b’tter.” 

Sure, the dancefloor has become a seesaw, and the walls have become expanding and contracting lungs, sucking up huge breaths of the thick, damp bodies clogging the room. But Dan is perfectly coherent. Or at least it seems that way until he falls butt-first off the bar whilst attempting to dance - or more like  _perform_  - to a song by  _The Wombats_. 

Tyler scoops him up and pulls him back behind the bar, an air of impatience floating around him. Dan tries to grab at it, to shoo it away. “Okay, go home, Dan.”

“I said ‘m fiiine,” Dan says again, a little annoyed that Tyler’s being so pushy about this. “I’m just a li’l tipsy, but don’ worry, they all like it. ‘M getting tips.” 

Dan pulls the wad of notes from his pocket, all of which have been stuffed there by various patrons over the course of the night. Tyler sighs, plucking the bills from Dan with what appears to be superhuman speed. 

“Hey!” 

“I’ll keep this safe for you until next shift,” Tyler tells him. He’s got an arm threaded through Dan’s - something he hadn’t noticed until now. It appears to be keeping him upright. “If I let you go out on the street with this much cash you’ll just get mugged.” 

“I’m not goin’ home,” Dan says, frowning. He can’t think of anything worse than stumbling back to his shitty little studio flat right now. It’s so cold there; the plumbing has gone to shite because the building’s falling apart, and Dan’s landlord is a dickhead. “I’m gonna go to Phil’s.” 

He’s not sure where the thought came from, but suddenly it seems perfectly logical. He brightens instantly, able to stand a little more on his own two feet. 

“Oh, no, absolutely not-” Tyler starts to say. 

“Yes,” Dan interrupts. He struggles out of Tyler’s grip,  “We need to talk it out. I said mean things... we need to- to  _speak_.”

“Dan, you are off your face, Phil does not want to see you right now.”

“Well I want to see him! He’s sad, did you know, Ty? He’s lonely here. I can’t let him be lonely, he’s so lovely.” Dan giggles then, leaning a little closer to Ty. “Also, he’s  _really_  pretty. But shh,” Dan pats Tyler’s cheek. “Don’t tell anyone I told you.” 

“Hate to break it to you babe, but you screamed it into the overhead speaker mic half an hour ago,” Tyler tells him. 

*

It’s 1:30am, and Dan has knocked on Phil’s door twice. On the ten minute walk from  _Habenero’s_  to here, Dan has had ample time to construct a logical introductory argument, along with some thought-through, concise points that will hopefully lead to a satisfactory conclusion to this bump in their unusual friendship. 

The door opens, and Phil stands there, exhaustion emanating from his skin like steam. “Dan?”

“Dan.” 

Immediately, Dan curses his own ineptitude, eyes screwed shut.

“What are you doing here?” Phil asks, squinting at the light pouring in from the hallway. “What time is it?”

“It’s like… late.”

Phil rubs his eyes. “Listen, Dan… I’m super tired. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Nope,” Dan says before he can stop himself. He pushes past Phil, straight through into the flat; to his credit, Phil doesn’t kick him out again, despite the fact he’d no doubt easily be able to pick Dan up and do exactly that. Instead, Phil just shuts the door with a small sigh. “We have to talk now,” Dan says, for some reason.

Phil regards him for a moment, then his shoulders slump, and he nods. “Fine, okay. What’s up?”

Dan’s mind goes blank. He dithers, on the verge of losing his nerve. He realises he hasn’t taken his shoes off like he usually does; a thread of guilt runs through him as he looks down at the expensive rug he’s currently muddying.

“I’m sorry I was so mean earlier,” Dan blurts, trying to be subtle as he steps off the rug. “But, like, I stand by it. It’s not fair to just... whore me out to your followers by hinting we might be... that we could possibly be...” Dan trails off, blushing uncontrollably. “Y’know.”

“I’m sorry if it came across that way,” Phil says. He sounds so tired. “It wasn’t my intention.”

Dan watches, unsure, as Phil crosses the room to his couch, then slumps down onto it. He rests his elbows on his knees, and rubs face with his hands.

“Well, okay,” Dan allows. His self-righteous arguments are slipping away one by one as he observes Phil, so obviously beaten down in the middle of his enormous sofa, like a bird in the jaws of some fluffy purple beast. “But… you flirt with me. All the time. I’m not imagining it. You call me cute, and you kiss me on the cheek, and you buy me drinks, and-”

Phil lets out a sour little laugh. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that it’s... it’s  _mean_ ,” Dan says, blushing even harder. “It’s mean to your fans, to tantalise them with something that’s not real, and it’s mean to me! You  _know_  I like you. I know you know. You’ve seen that I followed you on Instagram for years before I knew you, and by now you must have seen how obsessed with you I was. All you have to do is scroll back through your comments on each photo. I’m about half of them, after all.”

Phil’s mouth twitches, threatening a smile. “I’ve seen a few, perhaps.” 

Mortification burns in Dan’s fingertips, but he forces himself not to dwell on it. There are more important things at stake right now. 

“So, then you know! You know how it fucking pulls the rug out from beneath me every time you do it, and you still-”

“Dan, wait just-”

“I mean,  _fuck_ , Charlie’s already pissed off with me for trying to muscle in and he doesn’t even know the half of it!” Dan chuckles to himself, though it’s really not very funny. “What do you think Charlie would say about the fact that you told me you wanted to crawl into bed with me the other night? Or that you tell me I’m cute and funny, and you blow me kisses and wink at me and strut around with your shirt off, and walk in on me while I’m showering-”

“Wait, why does it matter what Charlie would say about any of that?” There’s a crease between Phil’s brow, like he’s genuinely bewildered. 

Dan puts it down to the jetlag and obvious sleep deprivation that he is definitely not helping Phil with right now. 

“Because he’s your boyfriend,” Dan reminds him gently.

Phil’s eyes widen. “Um... no he isn’t.” 

The follow-up argument dies on Dan’s tongue. Phil’s statement throws him completely, and he just stands, room still swaying, trying to decipher the code hidden in Phil’s words.

“What?”

“Charlie’s not my boyfriend.” Phil laughs darkly. “I’ve been granted that one small mercy.” 

Dan just stares, the words refusing to pierce through his alcohol-drenched brain. “What?”

“I told you this, remember?” Phil says, one eyebrow cocked. “The night we met.”

Dan does remember. Phil had called Charlie an associate. He’d lit a match and ignited a flame of timid, traitorous hope in Dan’s heart. And then the very next day, he’d sprayed that tiny flame with a fire hose when he’d posted a photo of he and Charlie kissing.

“Well... yes, but-”

“He’s just my co-worker,” Phil sighs, frowning. “An unfortunate one. Really not very easy to work with, let alone get along with day to day. But my agency thinks we have a good ‘look’ or something. That’s why they made me move here. It’s close to the Hickory Manor House, which Charlie’s parents own. It’s where he lives. Me being here makes it easier for us to keep up the pretence of being a couple in the public eye. But no, thank God, he’s not  _actually_  my boyfriend.”

The corners of Phil’s mouth turn downwards in distaste.

“But… the photos of you guys together...” Even as the words leave his mouth, Dan can see how blind he’s been. Just as gullible as any one of Phil’s followers, duped into believing an entirely PR-orchestrated showmance. “You’re kissing, and holding hands…”

“It’s all fake, Dan.” Phil falls back against the cushions of the sofa, staring up at his ceiling. “It’s just an act. I got annoyed with Charlie for posting that ‘anniversary’ bollocks when we were still in the Maldives. We were fighting a lot about... stuff. According to Charlie that meant we weren’t posting enough couple-y photos, so Charlie did some ‘damage control’ with an old snap from a few days earlier.” Phil rolls his eyes. “It pissed me off, so I left.”

“Oh no,” Dan groans, and shoves his head into his hands. The floor seems to open up beneath his feet, and he wishes he could just fall through it, into the flat below, and then maybe the one below that too. Anywhere but here, on Phil’s expensive shag carpet, listening to this. “ _Oh no, oh no, oh no_.”

Phil is on his feet at once. “What’s wrong?”

He crosses the room to Dan, but seems hesitant to actually touch him. “Ohh,” Dan groans. “This just makes everything so much worse.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Because if he’s not your boyfriend, then you’re just not interested in me,” Dan explains, though the embarrassment rips through his chest as the words pour out. “If you don’t have a boyfriend, then you really are just flirting with me for the sake of your image, and you don’t actually like me at all. Oh God, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Dan....”

He reaches out, but Dan flinches away. Humiliation burns his skin, reddening it to the point where he’s sure it will never again be a normal colour. He runs a hand through his hair, furious at himself for letting his own fantasised version of events permeate his reality. He realises now that he’d actually begun to entertain the thought that if Charlie weren’t around, Phil might actually want him. 

“I need to go,” Dan says, mostly to his stupidly tipsy brain.

“No, wait, Dan,” Phil says, catching hold of his wrists. The action surprises Dan, and he’s momentarily too stunned to do anything but let Phil hold him in position. He’s so close suddenly. His usually shiny hair looks a little duller than normal, and his dark circles are maybe the worst Dan’s ever seen them, but he’s still unfathomably, unfairly beautiful. Dan’s slow-pumping heart aches as he stares into those impossibly blue eyes. “You’re right, okay, I know I’ve been a bit… flirty or whatever. And I know it’s not fair to lead you on like that. I don’t want to hurt you, but... I don’t want to lose you.”

Dan’s eyes narrow. “What?” 

“Truth is, Dan, I like you a lot,” Phil says, pained.

“But not like  _that_.” Dan’s eyes smart, and he blinks at the hollow in the centre of Phil’s chest, not able to meet his eye.  

“Yes, like that.”

Dan’s eyes flick up to Phil’s, sure he must have misheard. “You…”

Phil sighs, and finally lets go of him. He shoves his hands in the back pockets of his pyjama pants, shoulders slumping. “You don’t want me, Dan.”

This is the last thing Dan expected to come out of his mouth. It seems blindingly obvious to Dan, along with apparently every other person that follows the AmazingPhil account, that he does, in fact, want Phil. So much that it’s eating him alive. It’s ruining his life, making him fuck up at his job, fight with his closest friends. 

He opens his mouth to say something along these lines, something probably nonsensical due to the current state of his drunk-brain, but Phil gets there first.

“I’m not AmazingPhil,” he says. Dan looks him up and down, searching for signs that this person might be an imposter. It’s no use; he’d know AmazingPhil’s body, face, posture, silhouette from a mile away. Phil sighs, tilting Dan’s chin up again. “AmazingPhil is not real. He’s just an online persona. AmazingPhil goes to fancy parties every night, and has exotic holidays in tropical islands. He has a perfect boyfriend, and a gaggle of celebrity friends to hang out with. But it’s a lie.”

“I… I know it’s exaggerated-” Dan tries to say, though he’s not sure his words are loud enough to be heard by human ears.

“I’m just Phil,” he says, drawing in on himself. “I spend most evenings on my sofa at home on my own, eating cereal out of the packet and playing Fallout 4. I don’t really like parties. Sometimes my agent makes me go, so I take a few pictures, post them to Instagram, steal some free food and leave without talking to anyone. I’m not cooler than anyone else, or happier, or more attractive.” Dan scoffs at this last one, and Phil raises an eyebrow. “It’s all FaceTune and Photoshop, Dan.”

Dan’s eyes sweep over Phil’s exposed chest, up to his cobalt eyes and high, razor-sharp cheekbones. There’s something seriously wrong with Phil’s perception of himself here, but Dan will have to tackle that another time. 

“I’m not delusional,” Dan mutters; his cheeks are still warm, though they’ve cooled a little. “So maybe once I was just like any other idiotic AmazingPhil fanboy, but not anymore. I’ve met you. I’ve spent time with you.”

Phil’s responding smile is devoid of belief. “Trust me,” Phil says sadly. His eyes shine with the kind of certainty that comes with experience. “If I gave you what you think you want, you’d realise you don’t really want it, and you’d move on. The behind-the-scenes Phil is boring, Dan. You’d see it straight away.”

Hot, indignant anger surges up into Dan’s throat then, pushing words into his mouth. He spits them out, his impatience with others telling him what he wants and feels and thinks bubbling over at last.

“Yeah, you know I probably would!” Dan cries. “I’d probably be floored by how fucking  _ordinary_  you are! If you deigned to let me,  _Your Majesty_ , I’d no doubt watch you do stupid, boring things like brushing your teeth and doing your laundry, and I’d be  _just_  as fucking overwhelmed with how you can make the mundane exciting, how you can take something ugly and dull and turn it into a fucking masterpiece.”

The venom in Dan’s tone obviously takes Phil by surprise. Dan kind of relishes the look on his astounded face. 

“What you don’t seem to understand,” Dan continues, on a roll now. His drunk-brain has receded for the moment, the adrenaline of his own frustrated argument pushing it to one side. “Is that sure, I liked AmazingPhil. He was great! He was gorgeous and sexy and glamorous. He had a cute smile and a deep, sensual voice, and I vaguely thought we might get on in a hypothetical world. But I spent a few  _days_  with behind-the-scenes Phil Lester and I fucking fell in  _love_  with that guy. Do you know how ridiculous it is that I find you more attractive the more I get to know you? Do you see how frustrating it is, obsessing over every conversation we have, every inside-joke and little could-be moment because it’s painfully obvious to me that we’re perfect for each other? We get along so stupidly well that your fans all took one look at us in a photo together and decided it was endgame! I can’t describe to you what getting to know you IRL has done to me, Phil, because it’s destroyed me. I could live with being an AmazingPhil fan, but being just a  _Phil_ fan is ripping me apart-”

Phil is a lot stronger than Dan thought.

One moment, he’s rambling, gushing really, and the next his feet are being lifted from the floor, and Phil is shoving him against the far wall. He hasn’t a second to breathe, let alone figure out what’s happening, before Phil kisses him, ferocious and insistent, his lips scorching.

At once, Dan goes rigid. His mind whites out, a television going into static, and all he can do is be kissed. He ascends, as Phil’s mouth presses against him, towards the high ceilings of Phil’s flat, looking down on his own rigid body, slammed up against that wall, Phil against him.

For one, fleeting moment, Dan is sure he must have died. There’s no way, after all, that there’s a Heavenly Dimension that could have anything comparable to the fucking miracle happening right now on Earth.  

Phil’s hands are big, and they wrap around Dan’s hipbones. His glasses press against the bridge of Dan’s nose. He tastes like sleep, musky and soft: olive oil drizzled on warm, crusty bread. Dan expects him to draw back after a minute or so, to realise what he’s so impulsively done and rear back in horror, but he doesn’t.

He kisses Dan like he’s about to feel him disappear. His hands trace up Dan’s sides, his mouth moves to Dan’s jaw, the lobe of his ear, down his neck. It’s only as Phil’s lips drag over his frantic pulse that Dan jerks back into his body, regains a modicum of control. He manages to grip onto Phil’s upper arms, clinging as Phil kisses against the sensitive skin of his throat. He tries to stop any sound escaping, but the whimpers push themselves from his pressed lips.

“Dan, can I…”

Phil’s breath tickles his ear, and Dan squirms, the blood in his cheeks immediately rushing south. “Y-yes.”

Dan has no idea what he’s agreeing to, but he’s not about to refuse anything Phil asks right now. It’s quickly apparent that Phil is requesting permission to unfasten the front of his jeans, which he does, nimbly, with one hand.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Phil says, then presses their mouths together again.

He captures Dan’s lower lip between his teeth, and looks directly into his eyes. Whether the pulsating, blur of colour swirling behind Phil is a product of the alcohol left in his blood, or some far stronger narcotic, gleaned from the tip of Phil’s tongue, Dan can’t be sure. This has to be a dream. Any moment, Charlie will interrupt with a sarcastic comment, and slap Dan back into reality. 

“Y-you have?”

Phil releases his lips, and a slow smile melts, as warm honey on a summer’s day, across his mouth. Dan’s knees weaken, and Phil slips an arm around his waist, holding him up. His other hand slips into the front of Dan’s jeans; he’s hard embarrassingly quickly, under the circumstances, but there’s no possible way that could have been helped.

Dan whines, trying to catch the sound before it pours out of him in a full-on moan. Phil returns his attention to Dan’s neck, one hand pressed against the bulge in Dan’s underwear, slowly stirring his erection into life.

“Dan, um, tell me if this is too forward but…” He trails off, licking several long stripes up Dan’s throat. 

“What?” Dan asks, practically gasping the words out. “Anything, what is it?”

If Phil asked for it, Dan would happily reach into his own chest right now and pull out his still-beating heart. Luckily, Phil just makes a noise, something animalistic, like a tiny growl, and bites down on Dan’s neck. It makes Dan gasp, but it feels heavenly; his hand slips into Phil’s hair.

“Can I fuck you, Dan?”

Something white hot slices through Dan’s chest, burning and bright, and his fist tightens in Phil’s jet black locks. He nods as best he can, voice having left him at the first sound of Phil’s request. He’s agreeing, of  _course_  he’s agreeing, but he knows that this will likely be the cause of his untimely death.

There are worse ways to go, he supposes as Phil leans away, eyes alight with Dan’s affirmation. He pulls his hand from Dan’s jeans, and sets about pushing them down his legs. Next, Phil is pulling the shirt from his chest in one fluid motion, and all Dan can do is raise his arms to assist; he shivers as the cool air touches his bare skin. It doesn’t matter for long, because everything about Phil is heat. Broad shoulders, smooth skin, rippling muscles and warm, wet lips. 

“Stay right here,” Phil whispers, urgent. “Please don’t move. God, you look phenomenal.”

Dazed, Dan wants to laugh at the idea that he could move if he even wanted to. Phil’s arm slips from around his waist, and he nearly crumples straight to the floor, but remembers how to stay upright, just. Phil is gone for a fleeting moment, so it seems, during which time Dan tries to let his breaths come normally, to rationalise what the fuck is happening.

He gets no closer to a sensible conclusion before Phil is back again, this time with a collection of items in his hands. He shoves these items into his pyjama pockets, then kisses Dan fiercely, all tongue and teeth and fiery passion. Dan is so hard it hurts, and the lack of blood in the rest of his body is beginning to blur his vision.

He can feel Phil everywhere; the idea that soon they will be even more entwined is practically incomprehensible. Phil is pushing down Dan’s underwear, seizing hold of his erection already, and it’s too much, it’s going to topple him over the edge. His hand flies out, grabbing Phil’s wrist, stilling him. 

“Stop, stop,” Dan urges. Phil freezes at once, obviously concerned. Dan shakes his head, wanting to dispel any idea that he’s not enjoying this. “No… it’s just… too good, you have to stop… I’ll come.”

Phil laughs, high-pitched and on edge. He seals his mouth to the bruise he’s already bitten into Dan’s neck, deepening it as Dan groans. “So come.”

Perhaps a stronger man would have been able to refuse such a command, but Dan is not that man. His chest slams itself against Phil’s as his orgasm pulsates through him, and Phil just works him through it, hand firm and gentle as it strokes Dan’s cock. The emoji pyjama pants do not survive the event particularly well, so Phil releases his grip on Dan and shimmies them down his legs.

He’s naked beneath.

Dan sort of wants to cry at the sight of him. Once, he’d seen a nude picture of Phil online; obviously, at the time, he’d thought that it was the only instance he’d ever witness it. If some time-travelling prophet had fallen from the sky and told Dan, as he shamefully trawled the back pages of the internet for those photos of his favourite Instagram model, that he’d one day be in this position, he would’ve never bothered.

He’d have staved off sex of any kind until this moment, knowing that anything would pale in comparison. Phil is so big, and so gorgeously, deliciously hard; knowing that is all going to slide into him, to bury itself into the tight cavern of his body has Dan’s heart pounding, his thighs quaking. In one single thrust, Phil will ruin him forever, Dan is sure.

Before he’s consciously aware of his actions, Dan feels himself sinking to his knees. It’s pure instinct; there is nothing he’s wanted in his mouth more than Phil’s length right now, but Phil seizes him by the underarms, pulling him upright.

“No, don’t,” Phil says, though it comes out strangled. “Please, I need to be inside you. Just… let me… please-”

Dan kisses the plea from Phil’s lips, marvelling that he even thinks Dan requires persuasion. “Do it. Fuck me.”

A groan spills from Phil’s mouth, and he slams their mouths together. He reaches into his pocket and brings out the bottle of lube he’d retrieved from somewhere, then pulls away from the kiss, concentrating. Somehow, even the sight of Phil uncapping the bottle, squeezing the gel onto his fingers, is enough to make Dan’s dick twitch again with interest.

He hasn’t felt this horny since he was a teenager. He can feel his erection swelling again, almost painfully fast. Phil’s fingers are quick and practiced as they slip between Dan’s spread legs. He reaches back, trickling over Dan’s cock, then back past his balls into the place he’s most sensitive, just feeling the pucker of his rim, the twitch of his muscles. Dan wishes he’d had time to prepare himself for this, if only to prevent the need for Phil stretching him open, but then again there is no way he could have foreseen this happening tonight.

If Dan is learning anything from this experience past the overwhelming, all-consuming hotness, it’s that Phil seems to like a lot of eye contact. He watches Dan’s face closely as he pushes his index finger inside, using his other hand to steady Dan’s chin if he tries to look away. One of Dan’s legs hitches up around Phil’s hip, wanting to give him better access, and Phil releases Dan’s chin in order to grab hold of it, keeping it in position.

“Remember that night I came to the bar for the Bingo?” Phil is asking, though Dan is barely able to concentrate on the words. “And you took me into that room?”

His questions seem rhetorical, but Dan nods anyway. “Y-yeah.”

Phil’s finger slips in up to the knuckle, and Dan’s head knocks backwards, hitting the wall behind him. “I was so close to giving in to it, then. To this.” A second finger joins the first, pressing in deep. “If that girl hadn’t walked in, I think I wouldn’t have been able to help myself.”

“Help yourself to- to what? Ah!” Dan yelps as Phil brushes over his prostate, then bites down on his lip. Phil kisses him roughly, grinding his own erection into Dan’s. “Oh,  _fuck_ -”

Dan’s eyes roll backwards as his re-hardening cock slides against Phil’s; in all his life sex has never felt this intense, this euphoric. Phil isn’t even inside him yet and all Dan can see, can taste, can feel is him. He feels as though Phil has tunnelled into his bones, has slipped into his bloodstream. His nerves are stinging with overstimulation, and he long ago lost the ability to stand; Phil is still holding him, one leg around his hip.

“To you,” Phil answers, taking Dan’s earlobe in his mouth. “You’re so irresistible. I can’t keep away from you. It’s a problem.”

A shimmer of electric, incredulous lust vibrates through Dan’s body. His mind rejects the statement, unable to process something so completely mental.  _He’s_  the one who’s the obsessive fan, not the other way around.

Phil is three fingers deep now, has been for around a minute. He’s brushing over Dan’s prostate, teasing, right there, but never quite enough. It’s driving Dan a little nuts. “Phil, please, I- I’m gonna pass out or something if you don’t- just- just-”

“Just what, Dan?” Phil’s lips brush the shell of Dan’s ear.

“Unngh,” Dan chokes out, tensing around the fingers pressed inside him. It’s still not enough. “Just fuck me,” Dan whispers, agonised. “Please.”

For a few seconds, Phil buries his face in Dan’s neck. “Say it again.”

Dan’s breath all seems to rush out of him in a long tumble. “Fuck me. I want you so  _so_  much, Phil. I always have.”

Phil draws his fingers out, and pulls back to look Dan in the eye. He smiles, reaching to roll on a condom, and then his eyes are lidded, sparkling with something Dan hasn’t seen in a while. A kind of vibrancy that Phil used to exude, once.

“Jump up, baby,” Phil tells him. In his delirium, Dan just frowns in confusion. Phil moves his hand, still slick with lube, to Dan’s other thigh, and squeezes, indicating what he means. “Jump. I’ve got you.”

Oh, for sure Dan is meeting his end tonight.

He takes a deep breath, and does as told, jumping into the air. Phil keeps his word, and catches hold of Dan by the upper thighs, then wraps them around his waist. He presses Dan back against the wall, moving his hands along the backs of Dan’s thighs until they’re squeezing his buttocks. Dan just wraps his legs even tighter, arms looped around Phil’s neck. Concerned that he’ll be too heavy, Dan checks Phil’s face for signs of distress, but he doesn’t even look bothered by the weight.

“How fucking strong are you, jesus,” Dan mutters, and Phil laughs.

He shifts Dan carefully, using the wall as a brace while he positions himself. At the first touch of the tip of Phil’s cock to his rim, Dan shudders. His arms squeeze a little tighter around Phil’s neck, hanging on for dear life. 

“You’ve done this before, right?”

Dan snorts. “I think I’d be slightly more concerned if I hadn’t. Have you  _seen_  yourself? Christ.”

The sass is unexpected, even to Dan himself. It’s pretty obviously sarcasm born of nerves and heightened emotions however, so he just laughs at his own outburst, shifting in Phil’s arms. 

There’s a smirk inching it’s way onto Phil’s face. “Scared?”

This one small word is, on it’s own, enough to send a shudder of pleasure down Dan’s spine. “Bring it on,” Dan says, half joking, half desperate. 

Phil’s hips push forwards at Dan’s request, and Dan squirms as he feels the tip of Phil’s cock pressing inside. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” Dan curses, loudly. It’s even bigger than he thought it would be; by far the biggest he’s ever had. “Oh my  _God_ , Phil,  _oh...”_

“You okay?” Phil asks. There’s a desperate hesitance in his eyes, like he’s holding back something primal. 

Dan nods emphatically, though the air has been squeezed from his lungs. The burn is incredible, though he vaguely wonders if Phil might be about to split him apart. Taking his word, Phil continues pressing in, and Dan’s eyes roll backwards, his muscles quivering as they struggle to accommodate him. Phil goes slowly, for which Dan is both grateful and not. A kinkier side of him wishes Phil would just slam in up to the hilt, impale him up against this pretty white wall until his screams can be heard across the channel. But also... he doesn’t want to never be able to walk again.

Despite his size, Phil fits into him like they were made for one another. As Phil finally, impossibly, bottoms out, Dan’s head falls to Phil’s shoulder, and he bites at the skin there, probably a little too hard. He squeezes around the intrusion filling him so entirely, drawing curse words from Phil’s lips. He’s trapped, pinned to the wall; with Phil so utterly intertwined in him, around him, Dan wonders, absently, if any sensation will ever come close to this pure, unfiltered bliss. 

“Oh, Dan,” Phil groans, drawing his hips back. “I think you’re an angel.”

It all becomes rather blurry then. Something in Phil seems to snap, and his careful, controlled movements stray into erratic territory. He digs his nails into Dan’s skin where he’s holding him up, sucks hard at the already purpling bruise at the base of his neck. His hips thrust themselves forwards, jolting him against the cold, smooth brick at his back.

Dan just takes it, mouth slackening, eyes stinging with agonised, bliss-stricken tears as Phil takes him apart one deep, powerful thrust at a time. Long and thick as he is, he’s jammed up against Dan’s prostate, milking it with every pump of his hips. Dan just whimpers and writhes in his grip, unable to speak actual words anymore. He’d expected his second orgasm to be less of a blow to his system, less overwhelming than the first, but even as it builds in his gut, he can tell it will eviscerate his every cell. 

Phil is relentless, whispering how good it feels, how perfect Dan is, how he’s wanted this for so long… and Dan can’t take it. He spills over the edge without needing anything more than Phil’s cock buried inside him. He moans and curses into Phil’s neck, utterly blown apart by the ecstasy coursing through his veins.

As he hangs limp in Phil’s tight, unwavering hold, he just watches the crumple of those sinfully gorgeous features as Phil chases his own high, still pounding into Dan with all he has. The crystal blue of Phil’s eyes becomes a mere sliver around the black holes of his pupils. There’s a sheen of moisture coating his neck, his pectoral muscles, his arms.

And then he too is coming, Dan can feel it pulse inside of him; he grabs Phil by the back of the head and slams their mouths together, drinking in every last droplet of Phil’s ecstasy as he tumbles over the precipice.

When it’s over, Phil loosens his hold, and Dan’s legs find the floor again. He of course still cannot stand, especially after that, but Phil grabs hold of him by the waist and holds him to his chest. He rocks Dan in his arms for a moment, swaying them together as they catch their breath. Then, he slings Dan’s arm over his shoulder and walks them to his room. Dan falls on the bed when Phil releases him, too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to do anything more. Phil just chuckles, sounding possibly even more tired, and crawls to lie down next to him. 

They should clean themselves up, probably, Dan thinks to himself, even as his eyes fall closed. Phil’s sheets are so soft, so fancy. They shouldn’t ruin them. But then Phil is drawing Dan into the tight, warm circle of his big, muscled arms. Cocooned in such an embrace, Dan cannot ward off the siren of sleep any longer, and falls into her willingly. With a ghosting of warm, damp breath on the back of his neck, Dan slips, miraculously, into dream.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “On a scale of one to ten,” Tyler garbles. “How good was it?”
> 
> Dan sighs, letting the memories roll over his skin in their millions. The taste of Phil’s lips, warm and whole, his strength, his tongue, his naked body…
> 
> “Like... three thousand, Ty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't know, this fic updates every Monday! x

They’re on an enormous stage, and the crowd is screaming their name. The lights are blinding, streaking across Dan’s vision in neon red, white and black. Phil, beside him, is bouncing on the balls of his feet. He turns to grin at Dan, eyes glimmering with excitement.

“You ready?”

“For…?”

Dan’s heart is beginning to pound incessantly. Phil just laughs, nudging him in the shoulder. He turns back to the screen in front of him, which Dan realises now is the only barrier between them and what sounds like a large audience beyond.

Suddenly, a booming voice announces their names. The crowd roars and screams; Dan’s stomach plummets to his knees.

“Phil,” he says, panicked. The screen is already beginning to lift towards the ceiling. “Phil, what’s happening? Where are we?”

“Relax,” Phil whispers to him. “Just wave and smile, they love you.”

The screen lifts, revealing a wash of cheering bodies, bathed in a milky blinding light. Dan lifts his hand, sure he’s about to pass out at the sight of so many people before him. And then they are dissolving, drowning in the brightness, the screams fading away until they’re nothing but a low hum.

Dan opens his eyes slowly, squinting in the sunlight pouring in through Phil’s window. He sighs, head pounding, body aching, and shuts his eyes again, trying to scrounge up the memory of what happened last night. From the feeling of the hangover prodding insistently at his bones, there was drinking involved.

All he can remember are wild, fantastical dreams. Being on a stage with Phil. Screaming fans. Dancing on the bar. Arguing with Phil. Accusing Phil. Being pressed up against a wall and-

Dan realises, belatedly, that there is an arm draped over his waist. He shifts experimentally, making sure it’s not just the thick quilt. It’s warm and weighty, thrown over the dip of his waist. He’s in Phil’s room, it only makes sense that it’s Phil’s arm. Which means…

“Oh my God,” Dan whispers to himself, flashbacks attacking him in a great flock, pecking him from all sides. 

Phil slamming him up against a wall, kissing him incessantly. Phil reaching into the front of his jeans, eyes locked, breaths short. Phil stripping him quickly, running hands over bare skin, biting at his throat. Locking thighs around Phil’s waist.

Dan lets out a small squeak as the realisation that this all actually appears to have happened crashes into him. It feels like he’s been slammed by a freight train, knocked out of his sane, sensible understanding of reality. For a minute or so, Dan struggles to keep his freak-out silent, the memories of the night before just pelting him continuously, leaving no time for him to breathe.

As he lies there, heart pounding, beads of sweat pearling on his forehead, Phil’s goddamn arm locked tight around his waist, Dan comes to the conclusion that he simply cannot deal with this alone. He needs to open the floodgates, to tell someone about this, if only to cement the fact that it’s - somehow - real. He tries to think where his phone could be, but comes up blank. Who knows what drunk-Dan had done with it last night.

In all likelihood, it was in his jeans pocket. If memory serves him correctly, his jeans were pushed off him pretty quickly - something practically too wild to contemplate - and are probably still crumpled in a heap in the other room.

Doing his utmost to be careful and quiet, Dan shimmies out from beneath Phil’s embrace, not trusting himself to turn and look at the other man just yet, lest he fully break down into a panic attack. He’ll just sneak out for now, and later he can tackle the idea that Phil laid beside him all night long, naked and spooning him. 

He pads softly to the door; at the last second his resolve breaks, and he can’t help sneaking one look over his shoulder. Phil is dead to the world, laid beneath the covers. His bare chest rises and falls in slow, even movements. His arm is flung out across the space Dan just vacated. He looks peaceful, content. 

Something claws at Dan’s stomach, reminding him of all the many, many activities he and this deity of a man got up to last night. He shivers, looks down at himself; he too is naked. He takes a breath, drags his eyes from Phil, and moves out of the room. He finds his underwear at once, flung onto the coffee table.

Blushing at the idea of Phil tossing them aside so impatiently, Dan slips them back on and goes to where his jeans have been discarded. With trembling fingers, he pulls out his phone which, mercifully, has a bit of battery left.

_7 missed calls from Designer Slut_

Without thinking, Dan clicks to call back, then presses the phone to his ear. It rings twice.

“Daniel fucking Howell, you’d better have a good reason for not calling me back,” Tyler says immediately, no greeting needed.

“Hi,” Dan whispers.

“Did you actually go to Phil’s flat after you left the bar? It was like one in the morning, Dan! He just got back from the Maldives! That poor man!”

“I-I did, yeah,” Dan says, swallowing. His voice sounds too loud, suddenly, in the silence of the flat.

“So? What happened? Was he pissed? I’d have been pissed.” Dan opens his mouth to reply, not at all sure what he’s about to say, but Tyler jumps in. “You know what, stay there, I’m coming over.”

“Wait, no,” Dan says quickly. “I’m not there.”

There’s a pause. “Not there? You’re not at home? Where are you?”

Dan hesitates for a moment, glancing around himself. “Phil’s.”

“You’re still at his place?!” Tyler’s voice is so loud. Dan imagines it could be heard streets away. “Christ, I knew he was a nice guy but letting you crash on his sofa after you showed up drunkenly at his door in the dead of night to yell at him-”

“I didn’t sleep on his sofa, Ty,” Dan says, quiet enough that he thinks Tyler might not have heard him.

“Wait…” Tyler sucks in a breath. “Oh my God. Oh my  _God_ , Dan. You banged him, didn’t you?”

A blush of epic proportions pushes up into Dan’s cheeks. He leans against the wall, the very same wall Phil pushed him up against only yesterday night. His eyes fall shut, and the memory of Phil’s hard, muscled body against him is all that he can think of. It consumes him, utterly, sending streaks of fire up his arms, stirring his arousal into life again.

“DANIEL JAMES HOWELL,” Tyler yells into his ear, breaking him out of the trance. “TELL ME RIGHT NOW, DID YOU OR DID YOU NOT FUCK A CELEBRITY SUPERMODEL LAST NIGHT?!”

“Ty, shh!” Dan urges, eyes darting to the door of Phil’s bedroom. “He’s asleep!”

“I don’t give a fuck! Oh my God, Dan, this is  _insane_! How did it happen?”

“I… genuinely have no idea,” Dan admits, still dazed. “Ty… what do I do?”

“What do you  _do_?” He phrases the question as if it’s absurd. “You go back into that bedroom and suck his  _soul_  out through his  _dick,_  Dan! What the fuck are you on the phone to me for?!”

“Dan?” The voice is all too familiar, but it makes Dan freeze.

“Oh my God, Ty, he’s awake.”

“Ugh, but I wanna know details!”

Dan flushes at the idea of having to recount the scene to Tyler of all people, who will undoubtedly want to pick apart every last second. It hadn’t exactly been a PG-13 hookup, either, from what Dan recalls.

“Later,” Dan lies, already thinking of ways to avoid this discussion.

“Just tell me one thing,” Tyler begs; Dan’s eyes roll backwards. “One thing!”

“Fine,” Dan says, teeth gritted. 

“Dan? Are you still here?” Phil calls from the other room. His voice has a touch of concern to it. Dan’s eyes fall closed, and he feels his stomach begin to churn. 

“On a scale of one to ten,” Tyler garbles. “How good was it?”

Dan sighs, letting the memories roll over his skin in their millions. The taste of Phil’s lips, warm and whole, his strength, his tongue, his naked body…

“Like... three  _thousand_ , Ty.”

“Holy shit,” Tyler breathes.

“I have to go,” Dan says. “He’s awake. Talk later.”

“You’d better, bitch!”

Dan hangs up, heart pounding against his chest. He pushes off the wall, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He rubs the sleep dust from his eyes, and looks down at his body. He aches everywhere, and the hangover drags at every limb, but Dan takes a breath and propels himself forwards.

He moves into Phil’s room slowly, terrified of the multitude of possible expressions on Phil’s face, in the light of morning. Phil is still in bed, covers fallen to his waist. He has his glasses on now; as soon as he catches sight of Dan, he seems to visibly relax, shoulders slumping, a relieved smile gracing his mouth.

“Oh,” he says. “I thought you might’ve gone.”

Dan shakes his head. The phone is still clutched in his hands. He can’t think of words to say, all of them seem totally inadequate.

“You’re up,” Phil observes, gaze falling to Dan’s underwear. “And dressed. Partially.”

Dan nods this time, swallowing. The air in here is suddenly stifling. “I… yeah.”

A look of conflict passes over Phil’s face, and his gaze falls to the duvet. “Dan… I’m sorry. About last night.”

Something strikes Dan across the chest, and he feels winded.  _Sorry?_

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re freaked out… oh, God.”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Dan lies.

Truthfully, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be fine again. How is he supposed to live a normal life now that this has happened? He’s had Phil,  _AmazingPhil_ , inside him. All over him. He knows the taste of his mouth, the feel of his fingers, the way his eyes shimmer when he’s at the brink of ecstasy.

“You were so drunk when you got here last night,” Phil is saying, for a reason Dan can’t fathom. “I could tell. But all the things you said… you just got to me. I couldn’t take it. I’ve told myself I couldn’t for so long, but you were so sad, so desperate.”

Dan’s cheeks burn. So it had been a pity fuck, then. 

“And earlier you’d been so angry. You told me you didn’t want to be friends anymore - I thought I’d lost you forever.” Phil draws his knees up beneath the covers, winding his arms around them. “Then Charlie rang, and we fought, like normal. I had a drink after. A couple, actually. I went to sleep, but when you got here I don’t think I was exactly sober…”

“Do you regret what happened?”

Phil glances up, horrified. “N-no! Well… I regret not waiting until you were less… out of it. But no, Dan, of course not.”

Dan shifts from foot to foot, not sure how to feel. He hadn’t really considered his state of mind last night, but in his eyes, there’s no question that he would have been one hundred percent on board with anything that happened even if he were stone cold sober.

“Do you?” Phil asks softly.

A strangled little laugh forces its way up Dan’s throat. “Phil… I used to literally dream about this happening. It’s mental. It’s completely ridiculous. But I couldn’t regret it if I tried.”

Phil smiles then, though there’s a glimmer of concern still hidden in the back of his eyes. He throws his arm out to one side, an invitation. “Come back to bed?” 

There is no force on the earth, Dan is sure, that could possibly stop him from crossing the room towards him, crawling under the covers and pressing up against Phil’s side. As he does it, Phil’s arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him close. A kiss is pressed to his forehead, and two azure eyes stare into his.

“That won’t happen again, Dan,” Phil says seriously. “I can’t stand the idea of taking advantage of you like that.”

“You… you didn’t,” Dan says. “It was beyond amazing. I can’t even process-”

Phil kisses him then, tasting of sleep and salt. Dan leans into it, mind whiting out.

“Still,” Phil murmurs, pulling away. “You’re precious, Dan. I don’t regret what happened. I regret how.”

Dan stares, dazedly, up into Phil’s eyes. “I don’t.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth quirks in a smile, and he swoops in to steal another kiss. Dan just allows it to happen, utterly unable to do anything except fall pliant in Phil’s arms. Phil rolls them over, so he’s leant over Dan, kissing him back into the pillows. Dan slings an arm around his shoulders, holding on.

After a minute or so, Phil pulls back, eyes hooded as he stares down. “We should shower.”

“Oh,” Dan says, flushing. “O-okay.”

Phil’s smile broadens. “Come with me.”

*

Showering with Phil is a transcendent experience. Last night, Dan had been too overwhelmed to properly focus, let alone appreciate the wonder of Phil’s naked form. In the light, open space of Phil’s enormous shower, there is no way to avoid the sight.

Phil walks from the bedroom to the bathroom unashamedly bare, as if clothes had only ever been a nuisance to him. Dan follows meekly, holding onto his hand as he totters through the expanse of Phil’s apartment. He watches, unable to do more than lean dumbly against the sink, as Phil switches on the shower, adjusts the temperature and pressure with the complicated settings, then switches on a playlist.

Dan recognises the song as Troye Sivan’s ‘COOL’.

“Joining me?” Phil asks then, stepping under the spray.

The rivulets of water bleed over his beautiful features, slickening his jet black hair. He holds out a hand through the glass door. Dan pushes away from the sink, already shaky with nerves, and pushes his underwear down his thighs. He has no time to be embarrassed about being naked in front of Phil, again, before he’s being pulled beneath the spray, his chest slammed against Phil’s in the warmth.

As he tries to adjust to the sensation of Phil’s lean, wet body against him, Dan hears the other man let out an ‘mmm’. It rumbles in his chest, which trembles beneath Dan’s hands.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Phil murmurs, then tilts Dan’s face up to kiss him. “How did I get so lucky?”

This question, in its absurdity, is the hammer that strikes Dan’s knees, sending him toppling to the floor. How did  _Phil_  get so lucky? He’s got it the wrong way around. He’s not the lucky one, not by any means.

Not knowing how to verbalise this argument, Dan chooses to make his point with actions instead of words. He slips his hands up the back of Phil’s thick, taut thighs. Water cascades over them, but Dan pulls Phil slightly out of the spray, so that the water is sluicing down his back. Phil pushes a hand into Dan’s hair, coating it in some kind of gel.

The scent of melon floods Dan’s senses as Phil massages the gel into a lather on Dan’s head. Gazing up for a moment at the sight of Phil, magnificent and towering above him, Dan takes a deep breath, and slips his mouth over Phil’s cock.

Feeling the weight of him, heavy and thick on his tongue, is spectacular. As his arousal swells, Dan glides his mouth over the length of him, specks of water flecking across his face. Phil’s hand tightens in Dan’s hair, and he groans, low and rumbling, as if it roared up from deep within the caverns of his chest.

“Oh, God, Dan, your mouth…”

Water stings Dan’s eyes as he tries to keep them open, locked with Phil’s, but he doesn’t care. He wants to make this perfect, wants to prove to Phil that this is everything to him, that with one kiss last night, drunk as he may have unfortunately been, he materialised Dan’s deepest, most fantastical wish.

This is far from Dan’s first rodeo, so he knows how to take him deeply, knows he can do it if he concentrates hard. It’s no secret that Phil is generously endowed, so it’s a struggle, but a challenge that Dan is more than prepared to undertake. He perseveres, tight lips, slack jaw, suppressing the urge to gag. What he can’t fit inside, he wraps a fist around, and uses steady, building movements to work Phil to the brunt of his climax.

Phil is so good, so sweet and gentle with him. He doesn’t thrust his hips, though Dan can feel them trembling.  He doesn’t pull Dan’s hair, or hold him in place, or grab or scratch or claw at him. Dan wishes he would. He wishes Phil would lose control, be so overcome with pleasure that he chokes Dan, makes him splutter and tear up.

Instead, he just cards his fingers through Dan’s wet curls, whispering how good it feels, how perfect Dan’s mouth is, how he’s so  _so_  close. And then he comes, a long moan slipping from his lips as he floods Dan’s mouth with his release. Dan’s eyes flutter at the first taste of him, so warm, so coppery, so utterly delicious that he’s sure he’s instantly addicted.

When Dan pulls free, he realises he’s panting. Phil crouches to slip his hands under Dan’s arms and haul him upright, then pushes him against the glass wall of the shower, lips pressed to his neck. Dan whimpers, the taste of Phil still all he can think of. Phil kisses him messily, hungrily, hands roaming over Dan’s hips, his bum, his waist.

“You’re so amazing,” he says. The words are oil-slickened; Dan can’t grab hold. 

“You’re the amazing one,” he manages to respond.

Phil chuckles against the base of his throat. “Well, yeah, technically I suppose.”

Dan laughs too, though it’s quickly cut off as Phil sinks his teeth into a patch of skin just above his collar.

“Fuck,” Dan chokes out, ever the eloquent one.

“Tell me what you want, Dan.”

He groans at the command. Phil’s hands are so distracting. They trickle over his wet skin, gliding patterns through the droplets covering his hipbones. He doesn’t know what he wants, apart from everything that’s already happening. And even that seems too much to ask for.

“You,” Dan gasps out as Phil’s hands move to his groin. “You, you, you.” 

Phil takes Dan’s earlobe in his teeth and pulls it, gently. He takes hold of Dan’s cock, which has been hard from the very moment Phil ripped the covers off the bed and stepped out in all his naked glory. Phil’s hands are slow, careful, deliberate. He holds Dan’s gaze, seeming cautious, like he’s checking for signs of Dan’s displeasure.

It’s infuriating, in a small sense. All Dan can think about as Phil’s fist slips over him, is how unfathomably hot it had been as Phil manhandled him last night. How he’d shoved and clawed and bitten, consumed by something primal. He’d been a lion, pouncing on a cornered gazelle, tearing it to bits in a frenzy. Now, he’s a kitten, soft and careful, watching the same gazelle for signs of distress, tentatively licking its wounds.

The gazelle aches for the lion’s claws again.

“I won’t break,” Dan’s mouth says before he can stop it.

Phil pauses, leaning back to look Dan in the eye. “What?”

“I-I won’t break. You can… you can do what you want. Harder. Faster. Whatever you want. Please.”

For a moment, Phil only stares, obviously caught off guard. Then, he smirks. “Oh, can I?”

The rough scratch of his voice is once again enough to weaken Dan’s knees. This time, Phil presses him up against the glass so firmly that he has no hope of falling to the shower floor. In the background, Dan knows the shower must still be running, knows Phil’s playlist must still be pumping out a slow, sultry song. But he hears none of it. All he can hear is the song of Phil’s obvious want, all he can taste is the sweet, dewy hunger deep in his pupil-blown eyes.

Phil reaches to the side, where a shelf is jutting from the wall. He grabs a bottle of what looks like moisturiser, and coats his fingers with it. Dan watches him in quiet disarray, back still pressed against the glass. He wonders, from the other side, what a sight it must be.

Phil teases his slick fingers over Dan’s cock, brushing past his balls until he’s breaching his rear. He pulls Dan’s thigh around his waist, leaving him only one leg to stand on, quite literally. 

“Don’t worry,” Phil murmurs, voice so low it sounds sinful as it trickles into Dan’s ears. “I’ve got you.”

As the first of Phil’s fingers slips into him, Dan near screams with how good it feels. Instead, he burrows into Phil’s shoulder, the tremors of his body making him twitch around the intrusion.

“Shh,” Phil says, though Dan is sure he can hear a faint flicker of amusement in the tone. “Relax. Does it feel good?”

Dan relaxes as much as he can, head lolling back against the glass. He nods, lips pressed together, hoping this is a satisfactory response. He wishes he could telepathically tell Phil that it’s so good he’s worried he might actually die from the intensity, but alas, he is restricted to the laws of this dimension. Phil kisses him then, not seeming to bother with any sort of finesse. He licks into Dan’s mouth, tugs his lip between his teeth. With one hand, he scissors into Dan, two knuckles deep. With the other, he fists over Dan’s aching cock, never allowing more than a millimetre of space between their mouths.

Dan does scream when he comes, but he’s pretty sure it’s followed directly by a chant of Phil’s name. He grips onto those big, broad shoulders, eyes squeezed shut as the wracks of pleasure course over him in wave after wave. When Phil releases him, Dan damn near slips to the ground. He manages to remain upright, just, and Phil laughs. 

“Not sure that helped much with getting us clean.”

Dan manages a small shrug, the aftershocks still thrumming through him, making his breaths laboured. “You washed my hair.”

Phil barks a laugh, then pulls Dan towards him, back beneath the spray. “True. Is it my turn now?”

*

After a very surreal fifteen minutes of shampooing Phil’s glorious locks, they exit the shower. Phil wraps Dan in an fluffy, probably expensive towel, then wraps one around his own waist. He leads Dan back into the bedroom, sits him on the bed.

“Do you have work today?” Phil asks as he crosses to his dresser to select some underwear.

At the first sight of the Calvins, Dan’s heart sinks. “No, I have Wednesdays off.”

“Wanna hang out?”

“Sure,” Dan replies, trying to be nonchalant. He turns to the window, where the sun is still streaming through the clouds. “It’s a fairly nice day, we could go to the beach or the pier or something.”

“Sounds good,” Phil says. He slips on his underwear beneath the towel, then pulls it off and drops it to the floor.

Considering Dan has been in close proximity to Phil’s naked body for some time now, the sight of him like this shouldn’t knock the breath from his lungs, but it does. Phil crosses to the bed, leaning down to plant a kiss on his lips. He hums contentedly, then draws away.

Dan opens his mouth to say something, though he has no idea what it might be, but at that moment, Phil’s phone trills. They both look around for it, confused, before the realisation hits that its in the other room. Phil jogs to get it, and Dan follows, as if he’s tethered. Phil finds it laying in the folds of his pyjama pants, which are still in a crumple on the floor. Blushing at the sight of the emoji pants again, Dan quietly collects his own clothes and slips them on.

“Crap,” Phil mutters, then presses something, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hi Heather.”

Fastening his jeans, Dan watches as discreetly as possible. A frown creases itself onto Phil’s forehead; Dan dislikes whoever this Heather person is at once, purely for putting it there.

“No, I haven’t seen him since I got back.”

There’s a pause; Dan pulls on his shirt.

“Well, he’s talking out of his ass. You know him, he blows everything out of proportion.”

There’s a shrill, indistinct chirruping coming from the other end of the phone. Phil rolls his eyes, sighing.

“Fine, okay. Yes, I’ll talk to him.”

“Wait, no I didn’t mean today- what! No, I can’t come in to the office today.”

“Because I’m busy! I have plans! I’m not just travelling to London to have a fricking couples therapy session with you and-”

Phil sighs heavily, then pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Yep. Yes. I know we’re the face of the agency. I understand the consequences, yes. Fine. Okay. Right, see you then.”

He hangs up, pressing the screen of the phone with unnecessary vigour.

“Everything okay?” Dan asks, hesitantly.

The look Phil sends his way is tortured. “I’m sorry, Dan. I have to go into work. That was my agent, Heather. She’s... a difficult woman.”

“Oh,” Dan can hear the disappointment in his own voice. “Is anything wrong?”

Phil sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. “If Charlie can’t get his way by fighting with me, then he takes it up with the management.”

“Is this because of that video the girl took of me?”

“No,” Phil says quickly. Then, he ducks his head. “Well. A little, maybe. He was pretty pissed off when he saw that. But it’s not your fault.”

“I bet that’s not how he sees it.”

Phil crosses the room to him, still dressed only in his underwear. He takes Dan’s hands in his, bringing them to his mouth to kiss in turn. “I’m sorry. Heather’s insisting she sees us both to have us talk it out. If I don’t go-”

“No, no, of course you have to go.”

Phil smiles gratefully, but his eyes have a lingering guilt in their depths. “Can I withdraw my Dan-time at a later date?”

Dan smiles, weakly. There’s a niggling, irritating voice in the back of his mind telling him that this is just a poor excuse Phil has scrounged up to get him to leave. Perhaps the idea of a boring beach day is just not appealing enough to someone like Phil.

“Of course,” Dan says anyway. He squeezes Phil’s hands, then draws his own away, pushing them into his back pockets. “Raincheck.”

Phil regards him unsurely. “It sucks. I wanted to spend the day with you.”

“It’s fine.” Dan’s voice comes out a little hoarse. “Think I might need to go and recover for a while anyway.”

Understatement.

“Are you feeling hungover?”

“Uh… no.” Dan catches Phil’s eye briefly, then blushes. “I mean… recover from other stuff.”

Phil’s face crumples briefly in amusement. He fists a hand in Dan’s t-shirt and pulls them flush against one another, smiling. “Want to recover here? I could just tuck you back into my bed…”

Dan blushes, and Phil kisses him, slow and sweet. He tastes of melon, and rainwater, and something warm and heady.

“Th-that’s okay,” Dan says, a little lightheaded. “I need to go home sometime.”

Phil makes a noise that very much sounds like he disagrees, but he releases Dan at last, stepping away. “Okay then,” he sighs. “I guess we’d better get going.”

Dan nods, casting a look around the room for his shoes. He sees them flung against a nearby wall, and goes to slip them on. He doesn’t think he brought a bag. 

“I’ll get going. Leave you to get ready.”

Phil casts a look down at his semi-naked body, one eyebrow raised. “You mean I’m not ready?”

Dan laughs, fondly, making his way towards the door. He feels on edge, suddenly, as if this perfect, mad dreamworld is about to splinter and break apart. He treads carefully, his footing precise as he crosses to Phil’s front door, not wanting to crack the glass bubble he’s been dancing inside for the past twelve hours.

“Heather’s a lucky woman if you’re turning up to her office like that.”

Phil walks to him, slips his arms around Dan’s waist even as he goes to open the door. “Technically it is kind of my job to dress like this.”

Dan’s eyes fall to the underwear, which stretches almost obscenely over the front of Phil’s crotch, hinting at what’s underneath. “Your fanbase thank you for your service.”

Phil chuckles, then presses a last kiss to Dan’s mouth. “I’m really, really glad you chose to come over last night, Dan.”

The words are muffled, spoken into Dan’s lips; he barely hears them. “Me too.”

“I’ll see you soon, won’t I?”

Dan pulls back, his smile a little strained. “You know where I am.”

“I’ll text you,” Phil promises, then gives Dan a small wave.

Dan opens the door, steps out into the hall, and waves back over his shoulder. “Bye,” he whispers.

The realisation that the door is about to close on this whole insane scenario hits him full force suddenly, and he feels a strange urge to cry. Noticing nothing amiss, Phil waves once more, blows a kiss, and presses it shut.

*

Over the next few days, Phil is kept pretty busy. From what Dan can gather from his sporadic texts, his agency is forcing him into mediation with Charlie in the hopes that they can resolve their issues and get back to keeping up the charade of their online romance. For obvious reasons, Dan is not happy about this.

Because of the complications, Phil is temporarily staying in London, attending these mediation sessions every day. In order to keep their followers from sensing anything amiss, both he and Charlie have set up a queued schedule of posts, which come out at specific times three times each day. They’re old photos, ones they keep in reserve in case of situations like this one, where they’re not in a position to take new ones.

Whenever he snatches a moment between pouring beers, avoiding Tyler’s incessant questions about what Phil’s like in bed, and sleep, Dan is poring over Instagram. He studies each of Charlie and Phil’s posts as they’re released, scrutinising Phil’s facial expressions, his body language, everything. Not all the queued photos are of both of them together, of course. Some are just of Phil, or just of Charlie, or of a cute dog in the park, or a designer belt in the window of the Gucci store.

The photos of them both together seem more staged now that Dan is aware of the fact they aren’t, and have never been, dating. Still though, in the wee hours, cocooned beneath his covers in bed, Dan’s paranoid brain can convince him that they’re real. 

On Saturday, in a lull between customers, Dan’s phone buzzes with a notification that Phil has posted a photo. He swipes it at once, reading the caption while it loads. 

_Went for a ramble with this one <3_

The photo flicks into focus on the screen, and a thin, sharp needle threads itself into Dan’s heart. It’s one of those cliche couples pictures, of their hands joined, Charlie reaching behind himself to lead Phil through a pretty woodland path. Dan pinches the screen, zooming in on their linked fingers, slotted so tightly together. 

It’s fine, he tells himself. Phil told him it’s all fake.

The photo was probably taken months ago. 

It’s useless to try and convince himself totally, though. Dan’s cruel brain would never allow such a thing. There’ll always be a niggling doubt, worming its way through Dan’s attempted self-assurances. 

He stares down at the glass in his hands, realising that he’s been drying the same one for around five minutes now. The last time Phil texted, almost twenty hours ago, he’d been in his hotel room. 

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
watching Rain Man and  
eating minibar pringles.   
wish u were here xx

Dan had sent a few follow up texts, but has yet received no response. He’s trying not to let it get to him, trying not to overthink it, but in moments like this one, caught between tasks, his mind wanders to thoughts of what might be happening. 

Most of the hypothetical scenarios Dan’s brain provides involve Charlie messing everything up somehow. 

Charlie turning up at Phil’s hotel room, the crocodile tears falling as he confesses his undying love. 

Charlie confronting Phil, yelling and throwing things. 

Charlie trash-talking Dan, laying out each and every reason Phil should ditch him, and never look back. 

“Dan, can you help me make a Pop Queen?” Lara calls from across the bar; an impatient looking customer stands across from her. “I’ve never made one before.”

Dan shoves his intrusive thoughts to the side for now, glad of the distraction. “Coming,” he calls. 

*

“So, you’re coming tomorrow, right?”

Dan turns to Tyler, weary, blinking slow. It’s been a long shift. “Wha?”

Tyler whacks him with a sodden bar rag. Dan’s too tired to do more than grimace as it slaps his bare arm. “To my party!”

“Oh, right,” Dan says, though he honestly remembers hearing nothing about this before now. “...For your birthday?”

Tyler whacks him again. “No! My birthday was three months ago, Dan. Don’t you remember? We came here. You were working. You gave us a bunch of free shots.”

“Oh, right, right.” Dan rolls his eyes. “Only you would come to the bar you work at on your birthday night.”

“Maybe I wanted to see my bestie!”

Dan blinks, stupidly. “Who’s that?”

This time, there are three whacks of the dish rag against his arm. Dan grabs hold of it, annoyed, and throws it into a nearby sink.

“You are! Christ, Daniel. Maybe I need to trade up!”

“Oh- oh!” Dan blushes, absurdly. A warmth melts across his belly. He’d never considered that Tyler might actually consider them friends outside of work. He’d always assumed it was more of a convenience friendship for him. “That’s- no, of course. I’m sorry, I’m just exhausted.”

“Still worn out from all your hot, steamy celeb-hookups, I bet.”

Dan rolls his eyes again, but his cheeks warm even more. “Don’t be stupid. That was days ago.”

“But a  _three-thousand_ out of ten…” Ty reminds him, grinning. “That’s gotta leave a few bruises, surely. In fact...” 

Tyler hooks a finger into Dan’s t-shirt collar, yanking it to one side to reveal the purpling hickey he will  _not_  shut up about. He’s already showed it to several customers, embarrassing Dan to the point where he’s seriously considered murder. Dodie, walking past them, giggles at the sight of it again. 

Dan yanks away from him, shoving Tyler in the side. “Shut  _up,_ will you. I should just never tell you anything ever.”

“You  _don’t_ tell me anything! I’ve heard the scantest of details about your scandalous tryst with a superstar! Which is why I need you to come over on tomorrow so I can ply you with my homemade punch and get you to spill!”

“Ugh, your punch is deadly.”

“But effective,” Ty points out. “Please come?”

Dan looks towards the ceiling. He has no excuses in the bank, and he hasn’t seen Tyler outside of work in quite a while. He supposes he could make an appearance. It’s not like he has any idea when Phil will be back in town, after all.

“Okay, okay, fine.”

Tyler’s arms are around him in seconds, and Dan is being squeezed within an inch of his life. He squawks in indignation, but allows it, still a little warm from the idea that Tyler thinks of him as a best friend.

“Get ready to spill your guts to me.”

“A few cups of your punch and I’ll probably spew them all over your floor.” 

*

 **From: Dan**  
**To: Phil  
** Any updates? x

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
Are you and Charlie besties  
yet? x

 _Seen: Sunday, 2:37pm_.

*

Dan puts off leaving for the party for as long as possible. Whilst Tyler is great, and Dan wants to be there for his party, his friends are  _a lot_. They’re Dan’s friends too, of course, but they’re the sort that live for the night, and Dan works so much that he rarely sees them. If Dan gets a night off and chooses to go out and socialise rather than stay at home playing video games, these people are the ones he’d meet with.

They’re loud, and excitable, and excruciatingly inappropriate. They’re not shy about flaunting their sexualities, which come in an array of colours from every shade in the Pride flag. They dress in stilettos and dresses and crop tops, wear wigs and heavy winged eyeliner. Dan likes them all, but he often leaves them at the end of the night with an overwhelming weariness that doesn’t subside for days.

He arrives at Tyler’s door an hour after the party has begun, dressed in his most colourful shirt (a patchwork-style tee) and brandishing a bottle of Tyler’s favourite tequila. As soon as Tyler wrenches the door open, Dan can tell he is wasted. His eyes are too wide, and his salmon silk shirt hangs off one shoulder. There are streamers in his hair, and what looks like glittery mascara on his blonde lashes. 

“DAN!” He yanks Dan through the doorway, squealing. “Everybody! Dan is here!”

A chorus of cheers sound from the other room, and Dan braces himself for being thrown to the lions. He plasters on a bright smile, and allows himself to be dragged into the living room. A load of people are squashed into Tyler’s small flat, every bit as bright and colourful as Dan expected.

A dozen pairs of hands grab him at once, sucking him into the crowd, buffeting him from one hug to the next. 

“Where have you been in my life?!” Scarlett screams into his face, her blonde hair tickling his chin. “I’ve missed you so much, you gorgeous fucker!” 

“Aha, yeah... just working,” Dan replies. “It’s been ages. How’ve you been?” 

“Fantastic! Look, meet my girlfriend!” 

Scarlett grabs a nearby girl seemingly at random, though she must not be, Dan assumes. The girl is petite and Asian, wearing a baby pink wig. She waggles her finger at Dan. He opens his mouth to introduce himself, but then Scarlett snogs her right in front of him, chasing away that opportunity. 

Dan steps away, rather awkwardly, and bumps into Christian, Troye and Liza. They all shriek at the sight of him, wrapping him in hugs. As they chatter at him about the inane gossip of the gay community that he’s apparently ‘missed’ in his absence, Dan regards Troye, the youngest of the three with mild surprise. 

Though Tyler never outright admits it, it’s pretty obvious that he’s been crushing on Troye for quite some time. Troye is only eighteen, but Dan’s often seen him at the club, teasing the older guys and being a general flirt. 

He’s skinny, and cute, with an ass to die for, a nose ring, and peroxide blonde hair. In other words he’s a lot of gay guys’ type, including Tyler’s, and Troye knows it. 

In Dan’s opinion, Tyler should just give it up. Troye’s too young to be in any kind of serious relationship at the moment. He’s just going to get hurt if he keeps trying. But inviting him here would suggest that Tyler is more stubborn than that, despite Troye’s obvious indifference. 

After a while, Dan makes an excuse to Troye and the others, and slinks away to the edge of the room to find Tyler again. 

“I brought you a bottle of patron,” Dan tells him, holding it up. He hopes Tyler will take him somewhere quiet to put it away - a break from the madness.

“Ooh, you gem!” Tyler unscrews it at once, and takes a sip. “Delish. I’ll throw some in the punch.”

“Oh my God, do not do that.”

“Why?!”

“Ty. You are a bartender. Not only should you know that it will taste awful, but it will become lethal. What else is in it, anyway?”

“Only one way to find out,” Tyler replies, pulling him over to the punch bowl at the side of the room. He pours some into a solo cup for Dan and hands it over. “Drink that, grumps. Time to loosen up.”

“I am loose,” Dan grumbles, though even as he says it he notices how tensely he’s holding himself. He lets his shoulders relax, and takes a cautious sip. It takes a lot not to spit it straight out again. “Jesus, Ty.”

“Good, right?” Tyler pours himself a cup and takes a gulp. “So, have you… said hello to everyone yet?”

“Not sure,” Dan answers, sipping again, and wincing. It’s far better if he holds his breath as he does it. “I got a bit overwhelmed. Just taking a minute before diving back in.”

Tyler smirks to himself for some reason. “Would you do me a favour? If you’re not gonna let me tip this into the punch, can you stick it in the kitchen for me?”

Tyler hands Dan the patron. “Oh, s-sure.”

“Cheers, darling. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

With that, and a small wink, Tyler disappears back into the crowd, shouting something about snatching wigs with the next song on his playlist. Thinking he may as well embrace the night, Dan tips the rest of the death-punch down his throat, checks his phone in case Phil has finally replied - he hasn’t - and slinks off towards the kitchen.

A small group of people are huddled around the fridge, blocking Dan’s way. Dan recognises a few of them, some regulars from the bar that Tyler has a fondness for, despite their young age. Troye is amongst them, his baby blue eyes shining and wide, fixed on something Dan can’t see. There’s someone in their midst, someone they are excitedly babbling at. Dan rolls his eyes, not in the mood for whatever inane gossipy drama is going on here.

“Excuse me,” Dan calls out, trying to be heard over their chatter. “Excuse me! Can I get past please?”

“Dan?”

The voice is disembodied, or so it seems. Then, the gaggle of teens part, wide-eyed, revealing the man they have gathered themselves around. Dan’s heart drops to his trainers.

“Phil.”

His fingers loosen around the patron, and it drops to the floor, shattering on impact. The youths squeal and scatter, clutching each other as they dance around the glass shards, then sprint out of the door like scared puppies. Dan just stares at Phil, unable to comprehend him being here, in Tyler’s kitchen, a cup of punch in his hand.

He looks incredible, as always. White t-shirt, black jeans. Simple, and beautiful.

“Fuck,” Dan says, looking down at the dropped tequila. 

It was only a small bottle, thank goodness, but it’s still made a substantial puddle. He crosses the room to the sink, grabbing a roll of kitchen towel, then crouches, attempting to soak up the mess with the towel, mind swirling. One damn cup of Tyler’s punch and everything is an incoherent jumble. He hears the crunch of glass under shoes, and then Phil is crouching down in front of him, taking the roll from his hands. Fingers tilt his chin upwards, and then he’s staring into the pale blue of Phil’s eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” Dan asks.

For some reason, Dan’s heart is aching. This doesn’t make any sense. Phil is supposed to be in London. He’s supposed to be with Charlie, having a terrible time. Has he been lying? If he’s been here, in Brighton, just minutes away, then why has he not been answering his phone?

“Tyler invited me,” Phil says.

Dan waits for him to continue the explanation. “You’re supposed to be in London.”

“Yeah,” Phil sighs, sitting back on his haunches. He takes some kitchen roll and begins trying to soak up the alcohol. “I’m, um. Done with that, I think.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Dan says, quietly. He feels pathetic, just saying the words. Phil doesn’t have any obligation to tell him where he is.

Still, Phil reaches for his hand, and squeezes it. “I’m sorry, I know. I should’ve texted you. It’s all been kind of last minute.” He sighs, squeezing Dan’s hand again. “No excuse.”

Dan stares at their hands, suspended in the air above the gleaming shards of glass. “I thought maybe you were having second thoughts.” Dan shifts, tries to pull his hand free, but Phil doesn’t let him. “It’s okay if you are. I know that the other night was kind of… random.”

“What? No, I-”

“Ho-ly shit, what have you guys done to my patron?!” They both look up, startled, to see Tyler leaning through the doorway. He has sharpie whiskers on his face, for some reason. “I told you to put it away, Dan! Not pour it all over the fucking floor!”

Dan stands at once, wrenching himself free of Phil’s grasp. “Sorry, Ty. It’s my fault, I’ll clean it up-”

“No, no, don’t bother.” Tyler sighs, then looks over his shoulder, back towards the other room. “Lucinda! Come help me mop up Dan’s spillage, please!”

Lucinda, a mature Drag Queen that frequents the gay bars in Brighton, swans into the room, an enormous Michael Kors bag on her arm, out of which she immediately produces a pack of disinfectant wipes.

“Stand aside, lovelies, mother is here to clean up your mess,” she announces, her heels crunching the glass shards as she walks across the floor. She shoos Dan and Phil to the side of the room with a flap of her manicured hands. “Tyler, honey, show me to your dustpan and brush.”

“Under the sink, babe,” Tyler says. “You two,” Tyler says, pointing at Dan and Phil. “Come with me.”

They follow him, somewhat reluctantly, as he leads them through the party, parting the dancing crowds still clogging up his living room. He gets to his bedroom door and pushes it open.

“If you’re going to ravish each other, I suggest doing it in a place with a few less breakable objects around,” Tyler says, sending an immediate flush into Dan’s cheeks. “Like my bed.”

“Ty!” Dan hisses, resisting the urge to slap him. “That’s not what we were-”

“Thanks, Ty,” Phil says coolly, for some reason. Dan whirls to face him, mouth open. “We’ll be done in a sec.”

“What!”

Tyler nods, sends Dan a curt, satisfied smile, and flounces away. Before he can run after the maddening man, Dan is being pulled into the bedroom, the door closing behind him. He turns to Phil, heart racing. He is in no way prepared for this, whatever it is. He’d been expecting a dramatic evening, but not on this level. 

“What’s going on here-”

“Dan, can we talk for a minute?”

Phil sits down on the bed. Tyler’s bedroom is modern and classy. A real bachelor’s pad, one that he keeps immaculate in case of, as he puts it, ‘unexpected guests’. His bed is black and white, perfectly made. It barely creases as Phil sits on it.

“About what?”

Phil smiles gently, then pats the space beside him. “Come sit?”

Unsurely, Dan walks over, sitting gingerly on the bed, a few feet from Phil. He’s sure he’s about to have his heart ripped out, and if that happens, he’ll need to make a quick getaway from the situation before he does something stupid, like cry, or beg Phil to change his mind.

“You want to pretend it never happened,” Dan guesses; Phil’s eyes widen.

“No! Of course I don’t- Dan, the other night was perfect,” Phil tells him. He seems sincere, but Dan still can’t allow himself to believe it. “I’m sorry I went a little off the grid after. It’s just that I wanted to sort everything out before it went any further with us.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That was probably a stupid decision, thinking about it.”

“Sort what out?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” Phil turns to him properly, and reaches for Dan’s hand again. Dan lets him take it, but tentatively. “I won’t pretend to be in a relationship with Charlie if you and I are… involved,” Phil states firmly. “I won’t do it.”

“What? That’s your job, Phil.”

“No. It isn’t,” Phil replies through gritted teeth; he sounds as though he’s had to argue this several times already. “My job is to model clothes and products. My job is to entertain my followers. It’s not to lie and keep up a useless pretence, or to spend all of my time dealing with an incessant idiot who verbally abuses the only person I care about in this town.”

Dan’s eyes widen, and his mouth goes dry. “Wait, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m not gonna throw whatever’s happening with us for Charlie,” Phil tells him. “I told my agent that I’m not working with him anymore, that it’s affecting my personal life. If they want me, they can have me, but on my own. I’m not going to hide you, or have people think I’m cheating on someone else with you.”

People think Phil is cheating on Charlie with him? This is news to Dan, although in hindsight, it’s possibly not that strange of a conclusion to jump to. Suddenly, Charlie’s hostility towards him makes a little more sense.

“You can’t do this,” Dan whispers. Flecks of white speckle his vision. “I’m just… I’m no one. You could lose everything.”

“You’re everything, Dan,” Phil replies, pulling gently on his hand. Dan leans towards him obediently, drawn in by the flakes of gold shimmering in Phil’s eyes. “Before I met you I was miserable. My life was empty. I had fans, not friends. A show-mance, not a relationship. I don’t want that anymore.”

Dan blinks at him, stupefied. “What do you want?”

“I want you,” Phil says, then kisses him. It’s soft, with a hint of the fruity punch still lingering on Phil’s breath. “That is... if you want me too.”

“Phil…” Dan says, eyes sparkling with an emotion he can neither contain nor identify. “There’s nothing I want more than you.”

Phil smiles; his eyes are glistening too. He reaches up to brush a curl from Dan’s forehead. “Did you mean it, the other night?”

At once, Dan’s soul, which is currently swooping about somewhere in the vicinity of Tyler’s ceiling, plummets to the floor. He tries to remember what he might have said the other night, drunkenly, but it’s all a blur.

“Mean what?”

“You said…” Phil bites his lip, looking unsure. A change of expression flickers across his face, and he seems to drop it. He skims his gaze over Dan’s face, a slow smile spreading over his lips. “Hey, actually,” he says, sliding a hand onto Dan’s knee. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

*

They make it back to Phil’s flat in record time. Phil orders them a taxi, because he has money, and apparently that’s something people with money do. Dan doesn’t complain, he just climbs in as Phil holds the door open, and waits approximately three seconds after Phil closes it behind himself to leap over the seat and kiss him.

It’s probably, on the whole, one of the bravest moves he thinks he’s ever made. Despite Phil’s frequent touches, and his reminders of how pretty he thinks Dan is, or how much he likes him, Dan is sure it will take him quite some time to be able to process the idea that Phil is interested in him.

Nevertheless, the punch in his system seems to be working enough to boost his confidence at the moment, so he presses himself against Phil’s body, pushing him against the window. Phil kisses him back eagerly, hands slipping to grab hold of Dan’s bum. The car swerving around corners has Dan toppling and almost falling into the footwell a few times, but then Phil pulls Dan onto his lap, and it stops being a problem.

At last they arrive, and Phil hands over a twenty to the driver. It’s way too much, probably, but he mumbles something to him about not needing change, then drags Dan out of the car, giggling.

“You're an extremely generous tipper, you know,” Dan laughs as Phil lifts him onto the pavement, kissing him again.

“Ah, I only tip that well for  _exceptionally_  cute bartenders,” Phil says, squeezing Dan’s bum, making him yelp. “Or taxi drivers that have been forced to watch me making out with cute bartenders in the back of their car for fifteen minutes.”

Dan laughs again, and leans back into the kiss. It’s chilly tonight, but it doesn’t seem important. They’re so near the ocean, outside Phil’s apartment building. It’s on the other side, but Dan can still feel the salt spray against his skin, along with the icy air whipping in from across the waves.

He lets the plush, soft warmth of Phil’s lips spread through his bones, chasing the cold away. Phil’s embrace is tight, and strong. In a moment they’ll be inside, out of the chill. Maybe Phil will push Dan into his bed, kiss him beneath the covers, strip away the clothes concealing their bodies and-

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” a voice says from nearby. Phil breaks away from Dan, startled, and they both turn to the door of the building. There’s a shape huddled on the floor there, clutching a bottle in his hand. The figure stands, removes his hood. Dan is about to scream, thinking it must be a mugger, but the recognition sets in before he can make a sound. “I should’ve known this was about him.”

“Charlie,” Phil says, his tone grim. “What are you doing here?”

Charlie grins, sloppily. He’s unsteady on his feet, clearly drunk. “‘m here to fight for my man, of course.” He eyes Dan then, looking him up and down as he lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a swig. “Square up, barkeep.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s mouth ghosts the shell of his ear; Dan’s hands fly to Phil’s upper arms, instinctively. “It’s okay,” Dan replies, his voice barely a whisper.
> 
> “Hmm, not sure it is. I think maybe I need to make it up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok. ur girl messed up. i put two troye sivan's in, so SUE ME. there are just two troye's in this universe ok lol, i cba to take the song out. also, i put that song in the playlist for this fic (https://open.spotify.com/user/maireadellen94/playlist/57aBEOPo1skf8Bj9Gd2AOD?si=caenYCiiRm2vUu-xKhgTYw if you wanna check it out) so it's canon or w/e
> 
> please just ignore this error lol xxx

  
  


It takes approximately three seconds for all of the blood in Dan’s face to drain, leaving him pale and a little dizzy. His feet are rooted to the spot, just watching Charlie’s wonky approach. He’s never so much as thrown a punch in his life, save for the occasional playfight with his brother. Once, on a particularly rowdy Bingo night, back in its infancy, Tyler had gotten too hyped up and accidentally elbowed him in the face, knocking Dan out cold right on stage. 

 

Aside from that, Dan’s tended to avoid violence. His lanky, noodly body does not make for the ultimate fighting machine. Desperately, Dan tries to conjure up anything he gleaned from the one self defence class he took with his friend Louise, back before she’d had a baby and fallen into the world of Mothercare and post-natal yoga.

 

He comes up blank. 

 

Luckily, before he’s forced to drop to the floor and curl up, possum-style, a strong, firm hand presses itself into his chest, pushing him backwards, and then Phil is stepping in front of him. 

 

“‘Square up’,” Phil is saying, scornfully. “You can drop the macho act for a start. Have you ever even been in a fight?”

 

Ignoring the question, Charlie jabs a finger in Phil’s direction. “This is his fault.” He turns, glaring at Dan. “We were fine. We were partners. And then he wedged his way in.”

 

“Oh, we were fine, were we?” Phil asks, incredulously. “Cha, we hated each other! We fought all the time! I was miserable, living a stupid, pointless lie!” 

 

“What was a lie?” Charlie asks, loudly, enough to disturb some of Phil’s neighbours, probably. “We’re great together, Heather’s right- we just _ fit _ . Him…” Again, Charlie jabs a finger at Dan, who shifts, awkwardly. He doesn’t remember Phil ever referring to Charlie as ‘Cha’ before now. It doesn’t sit right with him, for some reason. “He’s just some random guy! I’m a fucking  _ Hickory _ , Phil. My parents own half of Brighton! Just ‘cause we have a few disagreements doesn’t mean we’re not just, like, obviously meant to be together.”

 

There’s a look on Phil’s face akin to wonderment. He shakes his head slowly, wide-eyed. “You’re actually delusional. Were you really under the impression that if we just pretended for long enough, I’d give in and date you for real?”

 

Charlie scowls. “Oh, ‘cause it’d be so fucking dreadful to date me, right?”

 

To Dan’s dismay, Phil steps forwards, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Cha, it’s just… we don’t work. We’re too different. You can’t really think that we would make each other happy.”

 

“I’m miserable on my own,” Charlie says, quieter. He’s still swaying, but Phil’s hand seems to be anchoring him to the spot. “At least with you around… I wasn’t as fucking lonely.” 

 

“Maybe if you weren’t a dick to everyone, you’d have some friends,” Dan can’t help jumping in. They both turn to him, as if they’d forgotten he existed until now. 

 

“Oh, what the fuck do you know, you little twat-”

 

Phil slaps him, sharp and quick, right across the cheek. It catches Charlie by surprise, obviously, and he reaches up to the pinkening area, eyes wide. “Don’t talk to him like that,” Phil says calmly. “I’ve told you a hundred fucking times, Charlie. If you want to be friends, treat Dan with the same respect you treat me.”

 

To Dan’s shock, a tear rolls down Charlie’s cheek. “Can’t believe you hit me. Dick.” 

 

“Alright,” Phil sighs. He grabs Charlie by one arm, then turns to Dan. “Dan, I know this is a lot to ask, but could you give me a hand with him, please?”

 

Dumbly, and utterly at Phil’s beck and call, as ever, Dan moves into action, grabbing Charlie’s other arm. He half expects Charlie to scream, flail, or possibly sock him in the jaw, but he doesn’t. He just hangs off he and Phil, limp and miserable. 

 

“Where are we taking him?” Dan asks.

 

“Up to my flat,” Phil says, an apology in his voice. “He’s so coked up I’d rather not send him home, but the alcohol might knock him out if we’re lucky.” 

 

“Coked up?” Dan asks as they begin to move him into the building. He frowns at Charlie’s haggard face as Phil punches in the code. “How can you tell?”

 

Phil’s mouth is a grim line. “I’ve known him a long time.”

 

*

 

Just as Phil predicted, Charlie passes out the moment they drop him onto the couch. Dan watches from the edge of the room as Phil finds him a blanket - the same one he’s cloaked over Dan multiple times - and gets him a glass of water. He pulls of Charlie’s shoes, and for a horrifying moment Dan wonders whether he’ll be forced to watch Phil strip Charlie completely; mercifully, this doesn’t happen. 

 

Once Phil’s done all he can, he sighs heavily, runs a hand through his hair and turns to Dan. 

 

“Well, that was a mood killer.”

 

Dan tries to smile, but it comes out a little wobbly. His heart pangs, and he feels a tightness in his chest. “If he’s all settled then I’ll, uh, push off I guess.”

 

There’s a glimmer of amusement in Phil’s responding look. “Oh?”

 

The reaction is confusing. “Y-yeah, I mean… you probably wanna look after him.”

 

Phil crosses the room to him, slowly, that smile still caught on his full, pink lips. “Mm. I think I’ve done enough for Charlie this evening.”

 

The way Phil is looking at him is making Dan blush, ridiculously. It’s just a  _ look _ , how can it possibly be so affecting? “But-”

 

“I’m sorry about the interruption,” Phil says, slipping his hands onto Dan’s waist. The imprints of them are still pressed into Dan’s skin, or so it feels. Having Phil’s hands on him again makes him shiver. “And about… everything that Charlie said.”

 

Phil’s mouth ghosts the shell of his ear; Dan’s hands fly to Phil’s upper arms, instinctively. “It’s okay,” Dan replies, his voice barely a whisper.

 

“Hmm, not sure it is. I think maybe I need to make it up to you.”

 

Phil’s teeth worry his lobe between them, hot breath tickling at the skin. Dan squirms, fingers digging into Phil’s biceps. “But Charlie-”

 

“He’s out cold,” Phil murmurs into his ear. “I’ve spent too many nights scraping him off the floor and looking after him. I’ve told him it’s not happening anymore. If you’re still on board, Dan, then I’m not keen to let him interrupt what was looking to be a very, very promising evening.”

 

It feels wrong, especially now that Charlie has revealed exactly how he feels for Phil. Whilst Dan had his suspicions that Charlie might not be as clear on the boundaries of their non-relationship as Phil is,  _ knowing _ that to be true is different. To kiss Phil as Charlie sleeps away his sorrows on the couch nearby seems cruel, no matter how severely Dan may dislike him. 

 

Then again, having Phil this close, slipping his hands over Dan’s body, pressing his lips to Dan’s skin… it’s practically impossible to resist. “Maybe we could… go into your room?”

 

Dan feels Phil smiling against his ear. “Great idea.”

 

He finds Dan’s wrist, then breaks away from his mouth, tugging him through the room, past Charlie’s unconscious form and into his bedroom. Dan just follows, half-blind with want, perfectly willing to let Phil lead him to fucking Venus if he were so inclined. 

 

He closes the door behind them, still conscious of the other man in this apartment; the minute they’re sealed away however, the very notion of Charlie Hickory evaporates, and all there is is Phil, standing in front of him, tall and beautiful, a deep, pulsating hunger in his eyes. 

 

“Will you fuck me again?” Dan blurts, then shuts his eyes, cursing his runaway mouth. “I mean… if you want.”

 

A stricken look passes over Phil’s face, and then he groans, pulling Dan towards him. “I want.”

 

Long, nimble fingers are at Dan’s fly in seconds. Phil doesn’t seem to need to break away from Dan’s mouth as he works it open, for which Dan is indubitibly grateful. He feels like he needs to taste every inch of Phil, to feel the slide of their tongues as Phil’s hands wander, lest he go mad. 

 

Phil pushes Dan’s jeans down his legs, then steps back to remove his shirt. As soon as it’s gone, Dan attacks his chest with lips and teeth, sucking bruises into the defined muscle as Phil gasps, hand winding into Dan’s hair. 

 

“I like you better without a shirt,” Dan tells him, then swirls a tongue around his right nipple. Phil hisses, so Dan takes it between his teeth, teasing between sharp nips and slow, languorous sucks. 

 

“Yeah?” Phil asks, stroking a hand down the back of Dan’s skull, gently urging him onwards. 

 

Pleased to have found something that Phil really seems to enjoy, Dan moves his attention to the other nipple. Phil lets out a breathy little ‘fuck’, tipping his head backwards. After a minute or so of concentrated attention on Phil’s nipples, Dan’s head is being pulled backwards, and a mouth is smashed against his. 

 

“Quit teasing, Howell.”

 

Dan grins against him. “Hurry up then.”

 

With a frustrated groan, Phil breaks away, then lifts Dan onto the bed with such little effort that it leaves Dan weak. He shuffles up to the pillow-end, heart racing excitedly as Phil crawls after him. He takes each of Dan’s wrists in his hand and pins him to the mattress, smirking. 

 

“I’ve been looking forward to this for days,” Phil tells him in a low voice. It slips straight down to where Dan’s dick is straining in his boxers. He pushes his hips into the space between his and Phil’s bodies, searching for friction. “It was so lonely in my hotel room in London, Dan. All I could do was think about you, and your mouth in the shower, and those sweet, breathy little moans you made as I fucked you.”

 

One such moan slips out, just from hearing the filth Phil pouring from Phil’s lips. “You thought about me?”

 

Phil licks a long stripe up Dan’s neck, then bites down, hard. “Mmhmm.”

 

“I thought about you,” Dan confesses, gasping. “I think about you most nights, actually.” 

 

“Oh, really,” Phil says. Dan can feel his smirk, the fucker. “Do you touch yourself when you think about me, Dan?” 

 

“Always,” Dan says, half-wondering if he’s laying his soul a little too bare here. From the sound of Phil’s responding groan however, it seems to be doing the trick. Phil pushes his hips forwards then, grinding their cocks together; Dan’s mind whites out for a moment as the bliss surges through him. “Oh, fuck.”

 

“Do you think about me fucking you?”

 

“Yes,” Dan replies at once. 

 

“That’s hot, Dan,” Phil murmurs, mouth moving from his neck now, down, pressing kisses over Dan’s shirt until he reaches the slip of skin where it’s ridden up. As he breaches the elastic of Dan’s underwear, he looks up. “Keep your hands there, okay? Right there.”

 

In no mood to argue, Dan simply nods, and Phil releases his hold. He keeps his hands where they are as instructed, pinned either side of his head. 

 

“This is what I think about,” Phil purrs, pulling the underwear past Dan’s hips. 

 

He goes slow, as if he’s teasing himself with the slow reveal. As Dan’s cock is freed, Phil bites his lip. He seems to have just enough patience to push the offending garment from Dan’s legs, and then he’s pouncing on Dan again, hands on either of Dan’s hips as he runs the very edge of his tongue along the length of him. 

 

It’s nonsensical to Dan, that this, of all the acts they could be involved in, is the one that Phil dreams of when he’s alone. Though it is indisputable that Phil is thoroughly enjoying himself. 

 

His fingers dig into Dan’s hips, and he sinks his mouth over Dan readily, his throat lax and pliable. As Dan pushes into it, he tastes the outskirts of Heaven, he’s sure. Phil’s hands are preventing him from thrusting into the warmth, the softness, but if they weren’t there, Dan sure as hell wouldn’t be able to stop himself. 

 

“Fuck, Phil,” Dan chokes out. His eyes sting with blissful tears. “Unngh, if you do that for much longer I’m gonna come.” 

 

For another agonisingly good fifteen seconds, Phil continues. Then, he pulls off, licking his lips as he leans up, pupils blown. He crawls back over Dan and kisses him, at which point Dan is sure he’s about to break apart from the intensity. 

 

Then Phil is leaning away again. Dan makes grabby hands at him, and Phil laughs. “Just getting some supplies, baby.”

 

“Baby,” Dan echoes in wonderment. 

 

Phil freezes, one hand in his bedside drawer. “Sorry, I-”

 

“No,” Dan says quickly, heart pounding. “I like it.”

 

Phil smiles at him, then continues rummaging. “Noted.”

 

He gathers his ‘supplies’ quickly, and hops back onto the bed, rolling over to him in what can only be a display of his own physical prowess. Dan just giggles breathlessly, and hauls him back on top of him the moment he’s close enough. 

 

“God, you’re insanely hot,” Dan tells him, then leans up to kiss him. “I still can’t believe this is happening.” 

 

Phil laughs softly, then sits up to pour some lube onto his fingers. “Believe it, baby.” 

 

He winks, wickedly, and Dan covers his face with his hands. He feels as if he’s revealed some dirty kink about himself, when really he just wants to hear Phil call him every endearment under the sun, simply because the idea of him having any kind of cute nickname for him is absurd. 

 

The embarrassment is short-lived, as in the next moment, Phil’s finger is pressing into him, slick and lovely, making Dan’s eyes flutter. Phil is studying his face closely, his other hand gripping Dan’s ankle, keeping his legs spread apart. 

 

“You look so good like this,” Phil says, his chest heaving a little more than normal. “All spread out and flushed. You’re gonna make me come so hard.”

 

Dan reddens further, swallowing. He focuses on the fingers stretching him open, not able to process Phil’s words at present. Phil’s fingers are deep, he angles them expertly, seeming to know exactly how to do it. Dan twitches around him, spasming each time Phil brushes his prostate; he’s doing it on purpose, Dan is sure. Never quite pressing against it, just to see Dan squirm. 

 

“Now who’s the tease,” Dan manages to say, and Phil laughs, tongue caught between his teeth. 

 

“Want me to speed things along?” 

 

Dan nods hurriedly, already pushing Phil’s hand away, eager to get this show on the road. Tonight, after only one cup of punch, of which the effects are rapidly wearing off, everything is clearer, sharper, more vivid. Where Phil’s hands were a pleasurable wave of wonder the last time they did this, now they are a bolt of lightning, electrifying Dan’s every nerve. 

 

The sensation of Phil’s cock inside him, sober, might just be enough to fuck Dan into an entirely new dimenstion. “Come on,” Dan urges, writhing on Phil’s soft sheets. “I need you, please.”

 

“I’m coming, baby,” Phil assures him, and Dan groans at the endearment again. The surreality of being called something so sweet on Phil Lester’s breath is too much. He opens his eyes just in time to see Phil rolling a condom onto that gorgeous cock of his; Dan sucks in a breath. “Okay,” Phil says, crawling back on top of him to place a kiss on his lips. “You ready?” 

 

“Yes, yes,” Dan garbles. “Please, just-  _ oh _ .”

 

Dan was right; this time around, everything is heightened. He feels every stretch, every burn as Phil presses himself inside. Dan is an atom, about to be split, scattered across the universe in tiny, sparkling fragments. He sucks in a lungful of air, but still feels breathless. Phil’s hands scrape down his sides, fingertips dipping into the valleys of his ribs as they drag down his torso. 

 

Dan’s eyes squeeze shut; he feels Phil’s breath against his neck, can feel his own muscles twitching as Phil slips into him inch by inch. As Phil nudges against his prostate, Dan can’t stop the moan that escapes. He lets it tumble down Phil’s back, and bites at Phil’s shoulder. 

 

“You okay?” Phil asks, sounding almost as wrecked. His hips jerk forwards a little, probably unintentionally, and Dan cries out. 

 

“I’m good,” Dan somehow finds the energy to say. “Don’t stop.”

 

Phil nods. He draws out a short way, then pushes back in; the feeling of him slipping inside is pure ecstasy. Dan just clings to his arms, fighting for breath. Phil kisses him, and Dan welcomes it, glad of the comfort, the warm, wet slide of his mouth as he moves his hips again and again. 

 

“Can we try this a different way?” Phil asks, throwing Dan completely. 

 

His eyes peel open, and he nods, not sure what exactly he’s agreeing to. Phil hooks an arm around his waist then, and hauls him into a sitting position atop his lap. This, for obvious reasons, pushes them even further together, and Dan screams, not expecting it. Phil is nestled right up against his prostate; Dan lifts himself without thinking, then sinks back down, rocking into a rhythm as he fucks himself eagerly on Phil’s cock. 

 

Glassy-eyed, Phil just watches it happen, hands on Dan’s waist, whispers of how beautiful he is falling in a barely comprehensible rush from his spit-slick lips. Dan whimpers, feeling the coil of arousal winding tight in his gut, threatening to snap. He bites down hard on his lip, hips moving faster; Phil is snapping his own up in time, chasing his own high. His mouth is pressing itself to Dan’s damp chest, kissing at the skin there as he rocks them together. 

 

Dan simply doesn’t expect it as Phil moves a hand to his cock. He feels the fingers wrap around him and chokes, his muscles tightening. Phil makes a muffled, agonised sound, and thrusts upwards, still pumping his hand over Dan’s erection. Dan can feel Phil’s cock pulsating as he comes, can feel the tremors shuddering through him. 

 

He pulls Phil’s head backwards by his hair and kisses him roughly, wanting to work him through it to the very last drop. When it’s over, Phil tries to move, but Dan won’t allow it. Phil is still hard inside him, and Dan is so, tantalisingly close to the edge. He wraps his own hand around Phil’s still jerking him, moving them together as he continues rocking himself down. He’s thrown into the climax without warning, skimming the stars that swirl around his vision as he tumbles headfirst into a galaxy of pure ecstasy. 

 

When he lands back on earth, his t-shirt is soaked in come, and Phil is swiftly pulling it off him. Shortly afterwards, Phil’s arms are around him, and he’s laid on Phil’s rapidly rising chest. He burrows into the chest hair, wishing he could hide in it. 

 

“You okay, baby?” Phil whispers. 

 

The lights are off, Dan realises. When did that happen?

 

“I’m amazing,” Dan breathes, still lounging in the shallows of the incredible, mind-blowing orgasm he just received. 

 

“I think you’ll find that’s me,” Phil replies, and Dan swats him in the side. 

 

Phil laughs, pulls him closer, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I think I owe you a confession.”

 

“Hm?” Dan asks, but even as he says it he can feel himself falling into dream. 

  
  


*

 

When Dan wakes up, Phil is not beside him. Immediately, this strikes panic into his chest, and he sits up, bleary and aching, casting his gaze around the room. It’s apparent quite quickly that Phil is not in here. Considering he knows full well who is probably still loitering in the lounge, Dan’s anxiety is perhaps not unfounded. 

 

He thinks about calling out, but decides against it. Instead, he gets up and begins searching for his clothes, all of which are scattered in various places around the room. His t-shirt, crumpled beside the bed, is quickly deemed to be unwearable. In desperation, Dan grabs one of Phil’s from the back of a nearby chair, and hopes he won’t mind him borrowing it for the time being. 

 

As he approaches the bedroom door, Dan realises he can hear voices from the other side of it, low and hushed, presumably trying not to wake him. He opens the door a crack, trying not to make any noise. Through the slit he can see Charlie on the sofa, sat up now, back hunched as Phil, perched on the coffee table in front of him, speaks in a quiet, serious voice. 

 

“...as long as you can keep yourself under control,” Phil is saying. “I won’t allow you to be a dick to him. He’s important to me.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Charlie sighs. “If it means that much to you, I’ll be nice.”

 

“As much as I’d like to believe you, I’ve heard that before.”

 

“I will! I’ll kiss the little bugger’s feet, alright?” 

 

“That’s not what I mean.” 

 

“I know what you-” Charlie lets out a little huff of frustration. “I know what you mean, Phil, I’m not a moron. If that’s what it takes for us to be… mates, then I’ll do it. You know me, I’m not, like, a  _ total _ dickhead. I’m just easily riled up.”

 

“Jealous,” Phil says, but there’s a smile in his voice. 

 

Charlie, reaches out and shoves Phil in the shoulder. “Shut up. Just ‘cause you’re the only decent looking bloke around for miles who doesn’t wanna deck me the second they look at me.” 

 

“Oh, is that why we’d be ‘perfect’ together?” Phil asks, laughing now. 

 

Charlie shoves him again. “Ugh, shut up! I was wasted, okay? I don’t mean it, just-”

 

“Hi.” Dan’s feet have propelled himself into the room of their own accord. His heart races, not at all sure what he’s just interrupted. 

 

Phil stands from the table at once, beaming at him. “Hey, gorgeous.”

 

He aims a pointed look at Charlie, who has zeroed his attention on the Pokemon trainer t-shirt Dan is wearing. After a moment, Charlie meets Phil’s eye; they exchange a look. 

 

“Morning,” Charlie croaks out. Dan waits for the snide comment that will surely follow, but it never comes. 

 

“Oh, um,” Dan fidgets, playing with the hem of the t-shirt. “Morning.” 

 

“It’s actually one in the afternoon,” Phil says, walking to Dan. He wraps his arms around Dan’s waist, then leans in and presses their lips together. Dan reddens at once, hyper-aware of Charlie’s stare from the couch. “Want some coffee?”

 

“Please,” Dan replies, hoping that caffeine might help him through whatever strange scene he’s suddenly a part of. 

 

Phil takes his hand then, leading him through the lounge into the kitchen. As he passes the sofa, Dan can’t help looking towards Charlie, who is watching them with a morose expression. He doesn’t look angry though, as Dan is used to. 

 

“Cha, coffee?” 

 

“Uh, no, thanks.” 

 

Once the pot of coffee is brewing, Phil draws Dan into the corner near the window. Without a word, he lifts Dan onto the counter, then pushes himself between Dan’s legs to kiss him again. 

 

“So, about what you just saw,” Phil says against his lips. “Charlie and I have decided to try being friends.”

 

It’s difficult to feel anything but the searing, luxurious bliss of Phil’s mouth on his. Dan knows that what Phil’s saying isn’t… exactly what he wants to hear, however. Gently, he pushes against Phil’s chest, breaking their lips apart. 

 

“I thought you said you were done with him?” 

 

Phil draws back, then looks him in the eye. “I am in terms of work. I won’t do that stupid pretend-couple stuff anymore. I was serious about that.”

 

Dan nods, though truthfully he doesn’t understand. What’s the difference?

 

“The thing is,” Phil sighs, then pushes Dan’s curls from his face. “Though it doesn’t seem like it, Charlie’s kind of just this… lonely, sad guy. His parents think throwing money at him will make him happy. They’ve left him on his own since he was a kid. I know he’s got a bad attitude, but half the time he’s only acting out because he’s miserable. There have been a few times when I’ve seen him be… halfway decent. Even fun.”

 

The idea of this is so absurd that Dan actually snorts. “I find that difficult to believe.”

 

Phil smiles, turning to pour the coffee. “Even so,” Phil says, shrugging as he hands Dan a mug. “I’m pretty much the only friend he’s got right now. And he’s not exactly in a very stable place.”

 

“But he admitted that he wants to be with you!” Dan can’t help pointing out. He’s aware that his voice is a little shrill, but it can’t be helped. “He said, last night, that it wasn’t all pretend. What if he’s just guilting you into being friends so that he can try it on?”

 

“I’ve spoken to him about that,” Phil says calmly, apparently unsurprised by Dan’s outburst. He takes one of the other mugs and sips it. “And about you. Those are my terms and conditions of friendship. He lets go of the idea that we’ll ever be more than platonic, casual friends. And he can’t, under any circumstances, be anything less than lovely to you.” 

 

“And I accepted,” Charlie says from the doorway, making Dan jump. “I know you must fucking hate my guts, Dan, and that’s… perfectly reasonable considering. But I won’t give you shit anymore. Phil’s like… the only person on earth decent enough to put up with me, so I’m not about to jeopardise.”

 

Dan’s fingernails clink against the mug as he listens, teeth gnawing at his lower lip. “Right. Well. Right.” 

 

“Um, so, I’m gonna head out now,” Charlie says; he looks a state. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair messy and untamed. There’s a decent amount of stubble on his jaw. “Thanks for letting me crash here, Phil.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Phil says. He raises an eyebrow. “I’d prefer it if you asked next time though.”

 

Charlie nods. “Yeah, will do. Sorry I was such a state.” He pauses, looking to Dan. “And, um, sorry as well, Dan. For… threatening to hit you and… well. Every other shitty thing I might’ve said since I’ve met you.”

 

There’s a pause, then Dan shoots him a tight smile. “Yeah, okay. Clean slate, I guess.” 

 

Relief seems to exude from Charlie’s taut shoulders. “That’d be cool.”

 

He gives a final parting wave and is gone; the sound of the front door closing echoes through the flat. Dan turns to Phil, not sure what to say. 

 

“Listen, if he doesn’t hold up his end of the deal, I’ll break it off,” Phil says, sincerely. “I’ll sever all ties with the guy.”

 

Dan leans down and kisses Phil, softly and sweetly, taking his face in both hands. “You’re a lovely person, Phil. I don’t think your fans quite realise just how lovely you are.” 

 

“As long as you do,” Phil says, smiling into the kiss. “Now, do you have to leave straight away or is there time for me to wreck you at Mario Kart?”

 

Dan snorts again, already jumping down from the counter. “In your dreams.”

 

*

 

“Ugh, I’m gonna have to leave soon.”

 

Phil’s face is pressed into Dan’s tummy, and he shakes his head. “No.”

 

Dan chuckles, pushing a hand into his hair. “Unfortunately, some of us have work that involves more than just posting the odd photo of their pretty face.” 

 

Phil sits up, indignant. He pokes Dan in the side, making him shriek. “Hey! I have  _ many _ responsibilities I’m currently avoiding I’ll have you know.” 

 

A pleased little ripple thrums in Dan’s fingertips at this news. “Then you’ll be glad of me removing the distraction.”

 

There’s no time to move before Phil is crawling up to bring their faces level, one hand either side of Dan’s head as he leans over him. They’re on the couch, the Wii controllers abandoned for now in favour of lounging about against one another, and occasionally making out. 

 

“What if you were a little late to work?”

 

Dan’s dick twitches in interest, and he finds himself curling his leg around Phil’s, trailing a hand down his bare chest. Phil kisses him sinfully, all teasing, impossibly soft lips and the barest flicks of tongue. Dan pushes into it as best he can, searching for more, but Phil keeps a firm hand on Dan’s chest, pinning him to the sofa. 

 

When he breaks away, Dan kind of wants to hit him, and kind of wants to give him multiple orgasms. “Maybe Tyler wouldn’t care if I was late.”

 

As if he heard, at that exact second Dan’s phone bleeps. Somehow he just knows who it is. He sighs, twisting beneath Phil’s grip to reach for it. Phil busies himself by grazing his teeth gently along Dan’s collarbone. 

 

**From: Designer Slut (Ty)** **  
** **To: Dan**   
if i have to turn up to work   
2day with this HEINOUS

hangover then u sure as    
hell do as well. climb off    
phil’s dick and help me    
open up or else xxxx

 

**From: Designer Slut (Ty)** **  
** **To: Dan**   
oh and ur welcome for the   
sickest party everrrr xxxx

 

Dan sighs, placing the phone back on the coffee table. “It’s no use.” Phil looks up, a tinge of disappointment in his eyes. “Tyler knows me too well. If I turn up late, I’d never hear the end of it.”

 

Phil grumbles something Dan doesn’t quite catch, but reluctantly sits up. He reaches for one of Dan’s hands and places a kiss on the back of it, then smiles sadly. “Fine, I guess I can allow it.” 

 

“Thank you for your graciousness, King Phil,” Dan says, smirking.

 

“You’re welcome,” Phil says, then hesitates. “However, I must insist that you make up this stolen Dan-time as soon as possible.” 

 

“Whenever you want,” Dan promises. 

 

*

 

“Dan, it’s been like two hours and you still haven’t gushed about how wonderful I am,” Tyler complains, leant against the sink as Dan prepares a Tom Collins. 

 

“What?”

 

“I fixed everything with you and Twiggy,” Tyler says. “I’m brilliant, practically a superhero, and you’ve said nothing about it.” 

 

“Explain to me how you came to this conclusion,” Dan says, amusedly. 

 

“I invited him to my party! And then I forced you to come.” Tyler smiles proudly. “And I gave you both alcohol so you’d talk it out.” 

 

“Speaking of, why the fuck didn’t you tell me you’d invited him?”

 

“It was a surprise!”

 

“A surprise that made me nearly slice half the party guests open with a bottle of Patron!”

 

“Oh, you’re always so dramatic,” Tyler says, rolling his eyes. He grabs hold of the Tom Collins in Dan’s hands and has a secret sip, then pushes it over the counter to the wrong customer. Dan grabs it just in time, and delivers it to the correct person. Tyler laughs, unbothered by the mix up. “You have to admit, my plan worked.”

 

“Your plan to give us death-punch and shove us into your bedroom?”

 

Dan takes the money from the customer and rings it up. When he turns, Tyler is grinning at him. “Dan. Did it work, or did it not?”

 

A flush blooms traitorously in Dan’s cheeks, already giving him away. “Define ‘work’.”

 

“Did you,” Tyler prods him in the ribs. “Or did you not…” Tyler prods him again, making him squeal. “Get some hot, supermodel lovin’ last night?”

 

“Fuck off,” Dan groans, backing away from him. 

 

Tyler backs him into a corner of the bar, laughing, hands poised to tickle more. “Tell me, Daniel.”

 

“Fine, fine, yes, okay?! Yes. After a slight Hickory-hiccup, we… spent the night together.”

 

Tyler’s expression goes from triumphant to scandalised in a matter of seconds. “Hickory? You mean Charlie was there?”

 

Dan nods, lips pressing together; he’s still not sure how to feel about everything that’s happened with Charlie in the past twenty-four hours. Across the bar, Dan spots another customer waiting, and heads for her, Ty hot on his heels. 

 

The young woman orders a Pop Queen, and Dan sets to work, Tyler buzzing about at his elbow. 

 

“What happened?! You can’t leave me hanging!”

 

“He was there when we got back to Phil’s,” Dan says, careful to keep his voice low in case of any AmazingPhil-fans loitering. “He was wasted. Threatened to hit me.”

 

Tyler’s gasp is Oscar-worthy. He’s actually gripping the bar-top for support. “And then? Did Phil swoop in and knock him out with those big, gorgeous muscles?”

 

“He just calmed him down.” Dan pauses, pouring Moscato. “...And slapped him out of it.” 

 

“ _ Slapped _ him! Oh my gosh, tell me more.”

 

“Ty, keep your voice down,” Dan hisses as he sprinkles popcorn over the cocktail. “Yeah, slapped him. But only because he mouthed off at me.”

 

“Oh wow,” Tyler says, dreamily. “I’d have swooned. Did you swoon?”

 

“No, because I’m not a fucking Victorian damsel,” Dan says, glaring at Ty. He doesn’t mention the swoop of admiration that sluiced through his stomach as Phil pushed him out of danger. He side-steps past Ty and hands over the cocktail. As he puts the money into the register, he sighs, turning to Tyler again. “Something else happened though.” 

 

Tyler is practically squealing with delight at the prospect of further news. He claps his hands together excitably. “Spill. That. Tea.”

 

Dan slams the cash drawer closed, biting his lip. “Phil is going to try and keep Charlie as a friend.” 

 

Tyler’s jaw crashes to the floor. “He’s  _ what _ ? With that asswipe?”

 

“Yeah.” Dan frowns. “He said that underneath his asswipe-ness, Charlie’s, like, a scared lonely little boy. He feels sorry for him, basically.”

 

Tyler blows a puff of air upwards. “Blimey. That’s a plot twist. I thought Phil would’ve booted him for good if he tried to kick your pert little bum.”

 

“Well, he made Charlie promise he wouldn’t be a dick to me anymore.”

 

“And Charlie agreed?”

 

“Yeah. He apologised to me.” Dan pauses, playing with the bottle of Moscato he left uncapped. “It was weird.”

 

Tyler is silent for a minute, which is unusual. Dan looks at him; he appears to be mulling something over. After a minute or so, he shrugs. “Well, I guess Phil’s just some kind of all-forgiving God amongst us. Lord knows I’d never forgive that insipid moron for the way he’s been treating you, but then again I’m not exactly known for my… kind and gracious personality.”

 

Dan snorts, aiming a not-so-subtle glance at the noticeboard of ‘banned’ customers. It’s covered in polaroids Tyler has snapped of the people he decides aren’t allowed back into the bar for whatever reason. He asks each one to smile as Matt holds them - which they more often than not aren’t in the mood to do - then snaps the photo and labels it with something witty:  ‘cockmuncher’, ‘wino’, ‘wannabe’. They’re never allowed back. Tyler is adamant that those who cross him are never to return. 

 

“Quiet, you,” Tyler says, smirking. “Or I’ll stick one of the many polaroids I have of your ugly mug up there.”

 

Dan laughs. “If I ever make it onto your wall of shame, please use one of my nudes.”

 

“A promise I am more than happy to keep.”

 

“So…” Dan dithers, watching the hubbub of people fist their hands into the air along to the latest Ariana Grande song. “You think it’s okay, then? That I should just ignore it. Let Phil and Charlie exchange friendship bracelets and skip off into the sunset?”

 

Ty places a hand on his shoulder, looking oddly serious. “I think it would be perfectly within your rights to tell Phil you’re not comfortable with it.” Dan nods, gnawing his lip still. “But…” Tyler smiles. “I think you’re a good enough person to at least allow it a shot at working.”

 

Irritatingly, Dan knows Tyler is right. He sighs, nodding reluctantly; Ty squeezes his shoulder in sympathy. 

 

“If he says one more dickish thing to me, or throws another drink on me, I’m telling Phil either he’s out or I am.”

 

“Perfectly reasonable conditions,” Tyler says, approvingly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my future boy-toy just strolled in.”

 

Dan rolls his eyes, knowing before he even turns to look that Tyler is referring to Troye. “Give it up, seriously.”

 

Tyler’s mouth falls into an ‘o’. “Dan, where would you be if I’d told you to give up pursuing Phil!”

 

Dan opens his mouth to retort, but closes it again. He has a point. “I guess you’re right. Fine. Go for it.”

 

“I’ve got him right where I want him, you’ll see.”

 

“No more giving him free drinks!” Dan warns. 

 

Tyler pouts. “Ohhh, but look at his cute little face! How am I supposed to resist?”

 

“Just say no! Have some self resp- Ty! Are you listening-”

 

Tyler has already sprinted off, having spotted Troye approaching the other end of the bar. Helplessly, Dan can only watch as Tyler is sucked in to the simpering expression, the sweet smile, the flutter of lashes. Troye has him eating out of the palm of his hand in seconds. 

 

In the moments that follow, Tyler is making Troye a whiskey ginger, and refusing any payment, much to Dan’s chagrin. As he sees the exchange, and the wistful expression on Tyler’s face as he watches Troye disappear back into the throng of people, Dan sincerely hopes he’s not watching a version of himself, pining after Phil. 

 

*

 

It’s far more difficult keeping a straight face around the customers attempting to pry information about Phil from him, now that he actually  _ has _ the information. 

 

“So, like, how big’s his dick?” One of them asks; for obvious reasons, Dan’s instinctive reaction is to turn bright red. 

 

“How should I know?” He asks, trying to busy himself by wiping down the pristine bar top. 

 

The guy sniggers, clearly not buying his reaction, and adjusts his glittery snapback, leaning forwards. “Oh, should I have asked Charlie Hickory instead?”

Something hot and angry surges up into Dan’s throat, and he can tell he’s about to say something he regrets to this idiot who is clearly just trying to rile him up. Before the words can manifest however, a second person approaches the bar. He’s wearing a wet raincoat, which he seems to deliberately press against the snapback-idiot’s bare arm. 

 

The idiot turns, indignant, about to mouth off no doubt. Then, the man pulls down the hood of his raincoat, revealing a thick nest of black hair, a pair of Yves Saint-Laurent glasses, and two dazzlingly blue eyes. The idiot removes his snapback, eyes wide, as if he were an eighteenth century gentleman in the presence of a fair lady. 

 

“Hey gorgeous,” Phil says to Dan, grinning. 

 

Then, before Dan can do so much as respond, Phil is hoisting himself up on the bar, grabbing Dan by the collar and tugging him forwards to and kiss him soundly. Dan is too stunned to react, not that anything on earth could have pulled him away from the incredible sensation of Phil’s lips on his, as ever. After a while, Phil leans away, still seated on the bar. Dan doesn’t need to look around to know that there must be at least twenty people watching, and possibly recording, the scene. 

 

“How’s your shift going?” Phil asks, apparently oblivious to the onlookers. 

 

Dan’s face is red, and his ears are filled with the whispers of the crowd gathering. He doesn’t dare look, still. He just stares into Phil’s eyes, obviously dumbstruck. “It’s… fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

“...What are you doing here?”

 

“Just thought I’d stop in and see you.” Phil reaches for his hand; it’s damp from all the drinks he’s been mixing, and probably sticky, but Phil doesn’t seem to care. “Missed you.”

 

“You did?” Dan asks, bewildered. “You saw me earlier.”

 

“That was ages ago,” Phil replies, grinning. He leans in to steal another kiss; Dan just lets it happen, too astounded to do anything else. 

 

“Uh, excuse me?!” A loud, obnoxious voice says from behind Phil. 

 

They break apart, looking to the source. It’s the idiot with the snapback again, his wiry arms crossed high up his chest, his eyebrows raised. 

 

“Can I help you?” Phil asks. 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be in a  _ committed relationship _ ,” snapback says. His expression is one that screams ‘caught you!’, and it pisses Dan off to no end. “With  _ Charlie Hickory _ .” 

 

“Nah,” Phil says, smiling. “Not my type.” He squeezes Dan’s hand, still in his. “I have a thing for hot bartenders.” 

 

Snapback splutters, hands falling to his sides. “So you’ve been lying?”

 

“Charlie and I are friends, that’s it. Anything you may have interpreted about our relationship is your business.” 

 

“So…” Snapback looks at a loss. He glances at Dan, eyes wide. “You and him are, like, a thing?”

 

Phil turns to Dan, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I think that’s up to Dan to confirm or deny.”

He releases Dan’s hand then, and turns to a nearby phone camera, held aloft to film him. He blows a kiss into the lens, then turns, blowing another to Dan. 

 

“Come over later?” Phil asks, already backing away into the crowd. 

 

“S-sure,” Dan answers, very aware of all the cameras suddenly pointing at him. 

 

“Can’t wait,” Phil calls, and then disappears. Several people call after him, chattering excitedly about the new revelation surrounding their favourite star. 

 

Once it’s clear that Phil is gone, they turn their attention to Dan. Questions pelt at him in their hundreds, or so it seems. They ask him when it started, who initiated it, how it came to fruition. Dan has none of the answers. It’s just as mad and ridiculous to him as it is to anyone. He still feels the sting of Phil’s kiss on his mouth as he attempts to reply to the hungry fans. 

 

Why had Phil done that? 

 

“You guys are so fucking cute together,” a girl in a baby pink boob tube says, smiling at him as if they’re sharing a secret. “I always thought he and Charlie looked kinda… fake. It seemed too stagey, y’know? But when I see you guys together, I can tell it’s real. He’s, like, crazy about you.”

 

Oh, Dan realises in a crash of clarity. Right. That’s why. 

 

*

 

Dan knows where Phil keeps his spare key; he’d told Dan when he was house sitting. He debates for a while about whether it’s socially acceptable to just break in using the key, but it’s half two in the morning, and Phil is almost definitely asleep. Plus, he’d specifically asked Dan to come over tonight. 

 

In a flurry of exhaustion and impatience to see Phil’s pretty face again, Dan scoops the key out of a nearby light fixture, and quietly lets himself in. It’s dark as he pads through Phil’s lounge, though there’s a milky moonlight reflecting off the ocean surface, bouncing through Phil’s wide windows. 

 

He toes off his shoes, then lets hangs up his jacket on the row of hooks he knows is on the right wall. He’s already pulling off his t-shirt as he approaches Phil’s bedroom; Phil never closes the door usually. Dan is able to simply push it open. 

 

As the faint, silvery light pours over the bed, Dan can make out the shape of him. He’s long and fluid beneath the silky covers, one arm flung above his head. Dan smiles in the darkness, already fitting himself beneath it. 

 

He unfastens his jeans and shuffles them off, then creeps to the bed, and carefully climbs in. It’s only as he presses himself against Phil’s side that he stirs. There’s an obvious moment of panic as Phil’s body tenses, his breath sucking in sharply. 

 

“Wha- Dan?” 

 

Dan just snuggles closer. “Hi.”

 

For a fleeting second of silence, Dan wonders if perhaps he pushed too far, if this is unacceptable behaviour and Phil is angry or upset at the invasion. Then, Phil lets out a small laugh, and squeezes Dan tight. “Hi.”

 

“Is this okay?”

 

“More than okay,” Phil assures him, dropping a kiss to the top of Dan’s head. “Feel free to get into bed with me any time.” 

 

Dan’s hand sweeps over Phil’s stomach beneath the covers. The bumps of his abdominal muscles are like braille, telling Dan to touch everywhere, to run his hands over this glorious body until Phil is shaking. And he would love to, but he’s tired, and damp from the rain; he can barely hold his eyes open, let alone summon the energy to worship Phil as he deserves. 

 

“I need to ask you something,” Phil drawls; he sounds on the verge of sleep too. His fingers trail up Dan’s bare arm, tickling gently. 

 

“Mm?” 

 

“My agency called.” 

 

Dan’s eyed snap open. “They did? Have they made a decision about whether you can stay on without Charlie?” 

 

“Yeah,” Phil says. “They said I can, but they want me to have a… gay lifestyle, still. It’s my core branding or something.” 

 

“A gay lifestyle,” Dan echoes. Images of Phil twerking along to Beyonce songs, talking about snatching weaves and guest starring on RuPaul’s drag race flick through Dan’s mind. He smirks to himself. “Like what?” Phil is quiet in the moments that follow, and Dan’s suspicions rouse sleepily from their bed. “Phil?”

 

“Would you maybe… come to an event with me?” 

 

“An event?” 

 

“Yeah,” Phil says. His fingers have started to drum against Dan’s shoulder. “Like, a fancy event. I think it’s a charity thing. Heather wants me to go, to pose for photos with celebrities and pretend I have any clue why I’m there.” 

 

“Celebrities?” Dan asks, already nervous. “Like who?”

 

“I don’t know,” Phil says. “I think I heard that Colin Firth might be doing a speech.” 

 

“Fuck,” Dan says, which is exactly the reason he’s not the sort of person to ask to something like this. “Why would you wanna take me?”

 

Again, there’s a silence. Dan prods Phil in the side, making him squeak. 

 

“I want you to be my date.”

 

Dan sucks in a breath. “Really?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

“People will see us together, I guess.”

 

“I guess.”

 

“And you’re okay with that?” 

 

“I already snogged you on camera earlier,” Phil reminds him. “I’m not afraid of showing you off.” 

 

Dan bites his lip, his stomach already winding itself into knots. “Are you sure about this, Phil?” The guy must be nuts if he thinks parading Dan around at a celebrity filled soiree is going to put him in a good light. Dan is clumsy, and awkward, and has no idea how to act around the elite. “I’m not exactly A-list material.”

 

“You’re A-list to me,” Phil says, pulling him tighter. He hesitates, as if wondering whether to push it. “So, would you come?”

 

Like always, Dan is helpless to refuse any request Phil might pose. Perhaps he won’t embarrass Phil too horribly. Perhaps he could pull off being charming and posh for one evening. He’s got the right accent, at least. 

 

“Okay,” Dan says softly. 

 

“It’ll be great,” Phil promises, tilting his face up to smother him in kisses. It could be Dan’s imagination, but Phil doesn’t sound like he entirely believes his own words. “You’ll be great, I promise.” 

 

Not wanting anything to ruin this perfect pocket of night-time that Dan has stolen for them just yet, Dan nods, leaning up into the kiss. He shoves away thoughts of upcoming snooty bourgeoise London-types looking down their monocles at him, and falls into the euphoric, treacly Heaven of Phil’s kiss. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update coming on Monday!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love you,” Ty tells him. “And, Dan?”
> 
> “Mm?”
> 
> “Good luck.”
> 
> Dan frowns at him. “With what?”
> 
> The only response Tyler gives is a cackle, one that echoes around the bar even after he’s slipped out of the door.

“Another champagne, Sir?”

Dan all but grabs the bottle from his hands. “Please.”

The waiter, dressed in his pristine white suit jacket and bow tie, plucks a thin flute of bubbling liquid from the silver tray in his hand and hands it to Dan. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Dan mutters, and swiftly pours the entire thing down his throat. He places the flute back on the tray, meeting the waiter’s surprised expression.

“Uh… another, Sir?”

Blushing, Dan just nods. He’ll likely never see this man again. It’s okay if he thinks Dan is a freeloader, or an alcoholic, or a champagne-guzzling freak. The waiter gives him another flute, warier now. This time, Dan resists the urge to immediately neck it. The waiter moves off, and once again Dan is alone in the centre of a crowd of people he’s certain he couldn’t have less in common with.

He sips the champagne nervously, wondering if he’s supposed to be mingling with these upper-class snobs. He tugs at his thin black tie, hating the way it presses against his airway. There’s no possibility of loosening it however, not only because a loose tie would make him appear even sloppier than he already feels around the  _Armani_  tuxedos and  _Vivienne Westwood_  stilettos, but if he’s not mistaken, there is still a neat row of very conspicuous violet hickeys at the base of his neck.

Just as Dan is considering making a run for it, he feels a hand on his shoulder, and turns, relieved, to see Phil’s shining face. “Hey! Here you are. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Dan lies, sipping more champagne.

Pretty much as soon as they’d stepped through the doors of this event, Phil had been swept away by a rather stern-looking woman with straight black hair and a sharp nose, saying something about how he needs to start posing for photos. He’d thrown an apologetic look towards Dan as he was commandeered over to a temporary backdrop to pose beside some random, smartly dressed people, and a few minor celebrities.

Dan had just smiled tightly, and waved to pretend like it was okay. Then, he’d guzzled about half a bottle of champagne, courtesy of the very generous and heavily stocked waiters wandering about.

“Have you spoken to anyone?”

“Oh… yeah, a couple of people,” Dan lies again. In truth, he’s spoken to nobody at all, unless the waiter counts. Somehow, he suspects that Phil doesn’t count the waiter.

Still, his words seem to placate Phil a little, and he smiles, relieved. “Cool. I tried to tell Heather that I’m here with a guest and couldn’t be gone long but she’s a difficult lady. I don’t even know what the point of the photos are. It’s all so fake. I don’t even know those people, and I have to act like we’re all having a jolly old time together so they can post a story about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s…” Dan sips a little more champagne. He thought the alcohol would help with the nerves, but now he’s just as anxious, and a little lightheaded to boot. “Lame.”

Phil finds his hand, links their little fingers together. “Are you okay?”

Dan nods, then bites his lip. He sighs, and shakes his head. “I don’t belong here.”

Phil turns to look around them, and Dan follows his gaze. The event is a fundraiser for the Rainforest Conservation Charity. It’s being held in a big, posh manor house, around which there is an enormous, sprawling botanical garden. The main hall is huge, with high ceilings and three sets of double doors leading out into the fairy-lit gardens beyond. There are enormous gilt fireplaces at each end of the room, mirrors lining the ceiling, and great, twinkling chandeliers skimming people’s heads. Every individual piece of furniture in this place looks like it costs more than Dan’s entire flat. Dan’s been too scared to so much as sit on one of the chairs at the side of the room.

On top of that, every guest in here (apart from Dan) seems to be some kind of Duchess, or celebrity, or CEO. This is decidedly the fanciest party Dan has ever attended; even when he used to bartend weddings and other big events, he never saw anything so opulent.

“No, you don’t fit in,” Phil says suddenly, which makes Dan’s stomach clench. He wants to pull free of Phil’s grip, mortified. “But you’re bound to feel out of place. After all, you’re the prettiest thing in this whole room.”

Dan’s heart skips a beat, then promptly speeds up into a hum as a warm smile melts over Phil’s face. He finds himself leaning into Phil, wanting the closeness, the comfort of him. Like he can read Dan’s mind, Phil takes his chin in hand and presses their lips together, softly.

“Sorry,” Dan murmurs, eyes still closed for a second after they break apart. “I’m being negative. It’s very pretty, really.”

“It’s okay.” Phil sighs heavily. “Truth is, I don’t feel like I belong at these things either. I usually can’t wait to leave.” He turns to Dan. “It’s already a thousand times better with you here, though.”

Dan squeezes his finger, heart stuttering again. “Can we just drink all the free wine and eat all the free food?”

“You’re the best person in the world,” Phil says, straight-faced. “I’ll go steal some canapes, you snag as many free champagnes as you can, then let’s meet back here.”

Phil leans in to kiss him, both of them already laughing. Before they can put their plan into action however, the sound of a throat clearing breaks them apart. They turn, and Dan’s stomach drops, all the giddiness of Phil’s lovely words evaporating towards his and Phil’s mirrored reflections above. Beside them stands the severe, dark-haired woman that Dan assumes must be Heather, Phil’s agent. Next to her is Charlie Hickory, dressed immaculately in a black suit woven with thin lines of gold. He looks sensational; if Dan hadn’t witnessed it personally, he would never have believed that just a few days earlier Charlie had been passed out on Phil’s couch, lousy and wasted from various narcotics, the only designer bags in his possession being the ones under his eyes.

“Phil,” Heather says curtly. “Please, introduce us to your friend.”

“We’ve met,” Charlie mutters, nodding at Dan uncomfortably. “Hi, Dan.”

Thoroughly weirded out already by Charlie’s continued pleasant behaviour, Dan just nods back, then for some reason lifts his hand in an awkward wave. “Hi.”

Phil slips an arm around Dan’s waist, which hopefully means he’s not about to disown him for that weird greeting. “Heather, this is Dan. He’s my date.”

Dan glances at Phil, wondering if that might be a bit of a daring announcement considering this woman is supposedly Team Charlie.

“Pleasure,” Heather says, not even looking at Dan. “Phil, can I have a word?”

For the second time that evening, Phil aims another apologetic look at Dan before being dragged by the elbow to a more secluded spot nearby, beside one of the fireplaces. It’s only once he’s gone that Dan realises he’s now alone with Charlie, possibly the last person on Earth he’d pick to be forced to make small-talk with. He grapples for an excuse to leave, but before he can think of anything, Charlie speaks.

“You look very nice this evening.”

Dan gives him a withering look. “Charlie, you don’t have to be nice to me, nobody’s watching.”

Charlie laughs like Dan’s told a well-timed joke, sipping from the flute in his hand. “What a relief.”

Dan grimaces. He knew this sweet, reformed choir boy act was too good to be true. Then, Charlie nudges him with the tip of his shiny loafer. 

“I’m kidding,” Charlie says, one sculpted eyebrow lifting towards the chandelier above him. “I meant what I said before, Dan. I’ll be sweet as pie from now on. I can be nice, you know. You might not believe me, but it’s true.”

“You’re right,” Dan says bitterly, looking off towards where Phil is; he and Heather seem to be having an animated conversation, and not necessarily a happy one. “I don’t believe you.”

Charlie laughs. “Ah, give it time. I’m like a good Scotch. First time you try me I’m bitter as fuck. Swallow me in one go, I’ll burn you on the way down. But I’ll grow on you. After a while, you’ll learn to love me.”

“You’re very optimistic of my tolerance levels.”

“Well, not being funny Dan, but look around you.”

Dan looks around at the wine-blushed faces of the various extravagantly dressed patrons, their hair curled and coiffed, their dresses swishing around their ankles.

“Who else’ve you got?” Charlie asks. “This party is you being chucked in the deep end. It’s the first of many. You’re gonna need someone other than Phil to hobnob with eventually at these things. I’m the only other guy in this whole room that you even know on a first-name basis.”

Dan regards him, suspicious of his confident tone.

“Do you know why Phil wanted to bring me here tonight?”

Charlie’s answering smile is mildly condescending, but Dan let’s it slide. Condescension seems to be half of Charlie’s entire personality. “This is your induction, Dan. Didn’t you know?”

Before Dan can answer, let alone wrap his head around this strange question, Phil and Heather walk back over to them. Once again, Phil slips an arm around Dan’s waist. It doesn’t feel as comforting, this time.

“You ok?” Phil whispers.

Dan nods, not looking him in the eye.

“I was just saying how well Dan scrubs up,” Charlie tells Phil. “Amazing what a simple suit and tie can do.”

Phil shrugs. “I think he always looks gorgeous.”

“Indeed,” Heather says, appraising Dan with her beady eye. Seeming to be perfectly happy ignoring societal norms, Heather circles Dan, vulturous, drinking him in head to toe. “And what is it that you do for a living, Dan?”

“Heather,” Phil says; his tone is a warning.

Eyeing Phil worriedly, Dan feels he has no choice but to answer. “Uh… I’m a bartender.”

Heather gives Phil a look that Dan doesn’t understand; whatever is silently spoken between them makes Phil frown.

“A bartender? Goodness. You must get a fair few tips, I’d imagine.”

“I’m pretty good at my job, yes.”

Heather smiles; it’s even more condescending than Charlie’s. “Not what I mean, honey.”

A crease forms between Dan’s brows, and he looks to Phil for help. Phil just squeezes the arm around his waist, not saying anything.

“I don’t think I know what you’re getting at,” Dan says slowly, turning back to Heather.

“Have you ever considered a more… rewarding profession?” Heather asks; one finger circles the rim of her champagne glass. “Say, in the media industry? I can’t help but wonder if your pretty face is wasted slaving behind a bar.”

Again, Dan frowns in confusion. The media industry? “I don’t-”

Sighing impatiently, Charlie butts in. “She’s trying to scout you, Dan. To be a model.”

For a long few seconds, Dan can only stare in shock at Charlie’s bored expression, sure he must have misunderstood somehow. Then, he turns to Heather, certain she’s about to correct this obvious error. Heather just sips her champagne, one eyebrow raised. Finally, Dan turns to Phil. He’s looking at Dan worriedly, as if he’s about to bolt out of the door.

“I… don’t think that’s quite my thing,” Dan says after a while; the words drip out slowly.

His mind whirlpools with various emotions. Mostly horror, as the idea of posting semi-nude photos on social media for thousands of people to judge and scrutinise is terrifying. There’s also a small sliver of pride, just at the notion that this seasoned model scout thinks he’s good-looking enough for actual model-work.

Dan knows he’s relatively attractive. There’s a reason that he gets so many tips at the bar, and is the one who ends the month with a bruise on his bum from all the customers’ playful slapping and pinching. But models are on a different scale. Models are people like Phil, with their sculpted bodies and striking features. They’re people like Charlie, with famous connections and the ability to pull off (and afford) designer clothing. They’re not awkward, skinny nerds with a Vitamin D deficiency and no prospects.

“If you change your mind,” Heather says, pressing a business card into Dan’s palm.

“Excuse us,” Phil says then, much to Dan’s surprise.

Phil steers them away from Heather and Charlie then, dragging him through the throngs of people. As he’s pulled through the crowds, Dan’s hand brushes  _Givenchy_ , and  _Marc Jacobs_ , and  _Michael Kors_. He wonders idly if he’ll ever feel material this expensive again. Phil doesn’t stop until they’re out of the doors, pulling Dan down a lit path of silver birch trees covered in hanging lanterns. Away from the rest of the party, Phil pulls Dan onto a swing seat, and threads their hands together. His forehead drops to Dan’s shoulder. When he looks up again, he wears a distressed expression.

“Are you alright?”

Dazedly, Dan nods. “Yeah.” He pauses. The chair should creak, probably, but it’s perfectly silent. Too perfect. Just like everything else here. “Did you tell Heather to say that to me?”

“What? No, I told her not to.” Phil sighs, going to run a hand through his hair, then stopping when he remembers it’s been professionally styled. “I’m sorry if it made you feel awkward. She’s just a bloodhound. If she thinks there’s money to be made, she has no qualms about exploiting people to get it. She’s been on at me about arranging a meeting between you ever since she saw you in my posts and stuff. She thinks you have potential. But that’s not why I brought you here-”

“Why  _did_  you bring me here?”

Phil’s fingers tighten in Dan’s hold. “Be-because-”

“Charlie seems to think this is some kind of test,” Dan says before he can stop himself. He can feel his blood thrumming in his veins. He feels on edge, like he’s in a crystal ball that’s about to shatter all around him. “He made it seem like you were seeing how I would cope. Throwing me in the deep end so you’d see if I sunk or swam.”

Phil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Once again, Charlie Hickory is top of my hit list.”

“What did he mean by that?” Dan presses.

“Okay,” Phil rocks the swing back and forth with one foot. “Full disclosure, I did want to see if this might be too much for you to handle. I know we’ve barely even started dating but-”

“Dating?” Dan interrupts, heart starting to race. “Phil, we’ve slept together a few times, that’s it. This is… a lot to throw at someone you haven’t even been out to dinner with.”

“I know,” Phil says, sounding pained. “The last thing I want to do is scare you away. You’re the best thing in my life right now.” 

In the wake of this admission, Dan’s mind spins into a flurry, a ferris wheel of emotion, never stopping long enough to process any one thing. On some level, he wants to reject Phil’s words. Apparently being Phil’s favourite thing is a lot to deal with on top of everything else. 

“But this is exactly what I meant when I said that you wouldn’t want this once you had it,” Phil continues, not leaving long enough for Dan to so much as catch his breath. “I know I said that I’m not  _just_  AmazingPhil. But I’m also not just the Phil you’ve sat eating pizza and playing Mario Kart with. All this…” Phil gestures back towards the grand hall from which they came. “It comes with the package. My awful wraith of a boss, my stuck-up colleagues, this vapid, stupid party… it’s all attached to me.”

Dan blows a puff of air upwards. It’s a cold evening, but even outside Dan feels like he can barely breathe in this stifling suit, in the sticky closeness of the champagne-scented air. “You could’ve eased me in.”

“This _is_  me easing you in, Dan,” Phil says, desperate. “This is one of the nicer things about my job, believe it or not. Free food and drink, posing for a couple of photos, and making small-talk with some rich snobs.”

Dan opens his mouth to say that if this elitist shit-show is one of the nicer things, Phil must be flat out lying on his Instagram each day about how perfect his life is. But before he can get the words out, someone approaches, walking along the path towards them, brandishing an enormous camera with a flash attached. Another man, behind him, holds an even larger light reflector.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the cameraman says. “Could I get a photo of you two?”

A practiced poser, Phil slips an arm around Dan and pulls them tightly together, their knees pressing on the small seat. All traces of his anxious expression evaporate as he gives the lens a winning smile. Dan feels slightly sick, suddenly. He manages something resembling a smile as the camera flashes, and then he pulls away.

“Thank you, enjoy your evening,” the cameraman says, then wanders off to find more tucked away party guests in the dark corners of this jungle.

Phil turns to Dan at once, obviously sensing something is wrong.

“Phil, I-I think I have to go,” Dan tells him. The champagne in his belly is threatening to make a reappearance. “I don’t feel well, suddenly. I think I’m gonna get the train back.”

“But we booked a hotel,” Phil reminds him.

Dan pulls out his phone to check the time. If he leaves now, he should probably just about make it to the last train back to Brighton.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll… pay half. I just need to be back home.”

Phil takes hold of his hand. “Dan,” he says, softly. “Please stay. We can just sit out here. We can make fun of all the snooty people. I’ll find more champagne. Don’t leave.”

For a moment, Dan dithers. He looks into the deep, ocean blue of Phil’s eyes, his heart instantly a puddle. Over Phil’s shoulder, he can see through the window to the party inside. A thousand white-teeth smiles glisten, their owners every bit as dazzling as the room in which they’re stood, pretending to give a damn about the Earth when they guzzle alcohol from unsustainable vineyards, and eat caviar from rapidly depleting oceans. As he looks, Dan catches Charlie’s eye; he’s watching them through the window from afar, fixing them both with a cool, assessing gaze. Dan pulls free of Phil’s hold.

“I really can’t,” he says, not allowing himself to hesitate any longer. He stands, pulling at his tie to loosen it. “I’ll… text you when I’m home. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Dan, at least let me get you a taxi,” Phil urges, following him as he makes his way back to the hall, then pushes through the throngs towards the door.

“It’s fine, I’ll get the tube. I’ve done it before.”

“Dan,” Phil tries one final time. He catches Dan by the crook of the elbow; reluctantly, Dan turns. He looks miserable. “Promise you’ll text me.”

“I will,” Dan promises.

He already knows it’s a lie.

*

The train ride back to Brighton is quiet. At this time of night, on a Thursday, hardly anyone else is in the carriage with him. He has far too much time to reflect on his own idiocy. Now, with the alcohol still pulsing through his bloodstream, Dan is able to convince himself that he would’ve done or said something awful if he’d tried to stay in that place any longer.

But in the morning, when he’s sober again, Dan is equally certain that he’ll regret leaving like he did. Phil’s sincere pleas, the desperation in his glimmering blue eyes… these will haunt him for days.

Head against the rattling window, staring into the dark, Dan tells himself that he made the right decision. That events like that are just aching to spit outsiders like him straight back out again. That he could feel the eyes on him as he walked in, could practically hear the whispers of the party-goers, wondering what riff-raff they were allowing into these soirees nowadays.

Perhaps, after everything, this just won’t work. How can Dan - who grew up knowing nothing of wealth, whose parents scrimped and saved to buy his school uniform, who has had to work shitty bar jobs since he was fifteen to help support his family - possibly attempt to integrate himself into this bourgeoise world of extravagance at Phil’s side? To do it, he’d have to find a way to fit. He’d have to give up his life as he knows it, give up the bar and its cheap thrills to become some vapid version of himself. He’d have to accept Heather’s offer, become another boring model, obsessed with his appearance, relying on the validation of strangers to make him feel any worth.  

He thinks of Phil, and wonders how he manages to keep afloat in a world so shallow. Because somehow, impossibly, Phil  _has_  managed to keep his feet on the ground. Dan’s never known anyone sweeter, or more honest and sincere. It’s a feat that shouldn’t be overlooked, considering every other person Dan saw tonight is enough to make him want to run screaming from this world Phil is a part of, and set foot there again.

Just then, Dan’s phone buzzes. It’s a text from Phil. He’s also missed one from Tyler, he notes. He clicks that one first.

 **From: Designer Slut (Ty)  
To: Dan**  
Hey princess, hows the   
hobnobbing going??? alex  
sucks at covering u he’s   
already broken a bottle of  
greygoose and a bottle of   
cider. cant wait to hear  
all about your cinderella ball!!  
xo

He chooses not to respond to Ty just yet. Let the guy think Dan’s having a wonderful time. He can listen to Dan’s woeful story tomorrow. Taking a deep breath, Dan clicks Phil’s message, stomach already in knots as he takes in the length of it.

 **From: Phil  
To: Dan**  
You don’t have to reply to this  
with anything more than ‘home  
safe’ when you get back. I just   
wanted to tell you how sorry I   
am that i dropped you into a  
situation you werent ready for.   
You were right, it was stupid of  
me, and I should have prepared  
you for it. I don’t know how to   
express this any more clearly  
tho - this is my life. We are only  
just getting started so I don’t   
want to get ahead of things but  
if anything were to happen   
between us properly… if you  
became my boyfriend (yikes,   
sorry) this kind of thing would  
happen all the time. I wont sugar  
coat it anymore. There would be  
more parties. More photos of  
us together. More ppl trying to   
recruit you (i dont think you   
realise how gorgeous you are)  
and more ppl like charlie who  
are basically intolerable. dan,   
i really like you. i think you are  
possibly the best person ive   
ever met. but i know thats scary  
and i shouldnt say it. i just want  
you to know, because if you   
decide that this (me) is too  
much for you, it’s okay. it will  
make me v. sad, but we can be   
friends if you want. the last thing   
i want is to force you into  
something you arent comfortable  
with. my life is mad and im not blind.  
i know its not what you’d choose.  
i’ll leave you alone for a few   
days to think about it ofc. ill be   
waiting for your decision & probs  
eating a lot of ben & jerrys.   
get home safely, and pls pls  
let me know when you are.   
phil xx  
  


Shakily, the screen blurred by the moisture falling from his eyes, Dan taps out a response just as the train pulls into Brighton.

 **From: Dan  
To: Phil**  
Home safe x

*

Instead of yelling like Dan is sure he will, once he’s heard all the details, Tyler just sighs, hops off where he’s been perched on the bar, and starts pulling the beer through the tap.

Dan watches him, not sure what to make of this behaviour. “Aren’t you gonna tell me I’m a fucking idiot?”

“What’s the point?” Tyler asks, glaring at him. “Clearly any advice I give you just bounces straight off the thick brick wall you’ve erected in your dense head.”

“Ah, for a second I wondered if you’d gone soft.”

Tyler frowns, then chucks some watery beer at him from the pint glass in his hand. Dan shrieks, only just managing to dodge out of the way. “As if.”

“For Christ’s sake, Ty, we’re about to do an eight hour shift! I can’t do it in a soaked shirt.”

“Tell me something, Dan,” Tyler says, his movements furious as he rubs a cloth over the beer nozzle. “Do you like this guy, AmazingPhil?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You know I-”

“Because I was under the impression you were utterly, head over dick, completely in fucking love with this dude.”

Dan’s cheeks burn. “How did you know I’m in love with him?”

Tyler’s barked laughter is loud enough that it makes Dodie shriek from across the room. “How did I know?!” Tyler turns to Dodie, who is currently being calmed by Lara’s reassuring breathing technique. “Girls,” Ty shouts. “Would you be so kind as to tell Dan how it might be that I know he’s in love with Phil Lester?”

Lara snorts with laughter, and Dodie blushes, smiling. They walk over unsurely, eyes flicking between them like nervous sparrows.

“Like… is it a trick question?” Lara asks.

“Maybe it’s rhetorical,” Dodie suggests to Lara in a near-whisper.

“No, Dan here genuinely has no clue how I could know such a deep, dark secret,” Tyler says, smirking. 

Dodie and Lara exchange a look.

“Well,” Lara begins tentatively. She turns to Dan. “You’ve talked about him non-stop since I started working here a year ago.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t even know him then-”

Tyler slaps a hand over Dan’s mouth, silencing him. “Simmer down. The girls are speaking.”

“And you get all frozen when he, like, looks at you, or smiles at you,” Dodie pipes up, her cheeks rosy. “And when he came in here the other day and kissed you… you couldn’t walk for a whole ten minutes after.”

Dan flushes, furious at being called out this way. From behind Tyler’s palm, he attempts to defend himself, but it comes out as an indignant mumble.

Lara laughs then, relaxing into the conversation. “You’re always sneaking off into dark corners to text him back during your shift, and then you come back grinning and stuff.”

“You know everything about him,” Dodie says. “Like... even his shoe size, and what his favourite fruit is and stuff. 

“Like a superfan,” Lara agrees. “Oh, and of course there’s the fact you get jealous of Charlie, even though Phil’s told you multiple times that they’re just friends.”

“Not to mention,” Tyler says casually, removing his hand at last. He wipes it on his jeans, because Dan’s been licking it for the past minute in an attempt to free himself. “The other night when you got wasted, you picked up the microphone and announced that you’re in love with him to the whole club, which was then followed by a round of applause.”

Dan’s face drains of colour. “I did  _what_?”

“Oh yeah,” Lara says, as if only just remembering. “I think by that point I wasn’t even surprised.”

Dodie nods in agreement.

“Okay, thank you ladies,” Tyler tells them with a blown kiss. “You may return to your chores.”

They run off, giggling, leaving Dan utterly gobsmacked. “Oh God, Ty. I’m so hideously transparent.”

“My point is,” Tyler says, ignoring Dan’s complaints. “That you’re in love with a man. A man you thought you could never have. A man that seemed so far out of your league that you damn near fainted at the sight of him IRL. And miraculously, against all odds, this man found you amongst millions, plucked you from a metaphorical crowd of similarly desperate fangirls, and swept you onto the back of his saddle.”

“Ty-” Dan starts, but it’s useless to try and cut Tyler off mid-speech.

“Daniel James Howell, people get this kind of miracle happening once a millenia.” He jabs a finger in Dan’s face. “You love him. Is that love fickle enough to be washed away by a few stuck-up schmucks in designer clothing?”

Dan leans over to press his forehead against the bar. “I’m scared, Ty. I’m so scared I won’t be enough for him.”

Tyler’s hand passes over his back, soothingly. “Of course you are, Dan. You can’t see what he sees in you, but it’s there. Just like he’s not only AmazingPhil, you’re not just ‘bartender-Dan’. Something I like about that guy is that he saw right past that ‘IDGAF’ attitude you give off when you’re behind this bar. straight away. He saw you for who you really are. A sweet, and fun, and effortlessly cool person with a ton of love and light inside you. It’s like being in such a superficial lifestyle has given him the ability to see past the surface of people.”

“So, what, he saw through me to the black hole where my soul should be?”

“I know you like to think you’re dark and edgy, Dan,” Tyler says, rolling his eyes. “But there’s a reason you’re the most popular bartender in Brighton. It’s because you’re cute, and you have dimples, and you’re funny and lovely to people when they mostly don’t deserve it.” 

Dan frowns. “I thought you said it was because of my twink ass?”

Tyler grins, pinching him on the bum. “That too.”

*

In bed, later that same night, Dan is scrolling through Twitter when he sees his own face. In his state of exhaustion, it takes Dan a moment to understand that he is not hallucinating, and that he really is seeing himself on his own timeline.

He clicks the tweet, which has been retweeted by a bunch of AmazingPhil fan accounts that he follows. The photo is the one of he and Phil, side by side on the swing-seat in the fairy-lit gardens of the charity event. There’s a watermark in one corner that reads ‘Rainforest Conservation Charity’. To Dan’s surprise, he doesn’t hate the photo, but that’s probably due to the professional lighting and cameraperson. His smile is tight, as he remembers it being, where Phil’s is wide and toothy. They’re a similar height, even seated, so they miraculously look quite good together. Even next to Phil’s radiant beauty, Dan doesn’t think he looks too out of place. 

The caption reads: 

_Social Media Celebrity and Model Phil Lester (AmazingPhil) [left], and friend._

The words burn into Dan’s retinas.  _And friend_.

*

“Elite modelling agency, how may I help you?”

“Hi. Could I be connected to Heather, please?”

“Certainly, Sir. Please hold.”

“...”

“Heather Roberts, head of booking. What can I do for you?”

“Hi, um. This is Dan. Dan Howell? I don’t know if you remember me-”

“Dan, darling. So glad you decided to get in touch. Have you been considering my offer?”

“Yes.”

“So, shall we get you pencilled in for some headshots?”

“Oh, no thank you. I’m just... wondering how this all works.” 

“Hm, Dan, if we’re going to talk logistics, I’ll need a yes from you.” 

“But... what would I be saying yes to, exactly?” 

“You just let me handle that.”

“I don’t really feel comfortable just signing away rights to my face or whatever.”

“Dan, honey, do you know how big you could be? People would  _kill_  for this opportunity. You’ve already got the fanbase thanks to Phil. The fruit is dangling from the tree! You just need me to help you pluck it.” 

“Right.” 

“...Dan? Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes. Thanks. I’ll... think it over.”

“Hold on, let’s talk-”

“Thank you. Bye.”

*

“You’d really consider letting that witch recruit you into her coven?”

“If it meant I could feel more like I belonged in that world, beside Phil, then yeah.”

Dan directs his attention towards the bar he’s scrubbing, not trusting himself to meet Tyler’s eye.

“You’d sign away your soul for some good dick,” Tyler sighs, shaking his head.

“Not that you’re being dramatic or anything.”

Right then, Dan straightens up, and Tyler flings his arms around Dan’s middle, almost knocking them both to the ground. Several customers at the bar laugh at the display, and then again at Dan’s responding attempt to pull Tyler off him.

“Don’t leave me,” Tyler wails, clinging to Dan with the strength of a baby gorilla. “I need you. Look at these vultures,” Tyler snarls at the customers nearby, all of whom grin at him. “They’ll eat me alive!”

“They won’t  _eat_  you, Ty-” Dan tries to say, still tugging at Ty’s grip, fruitlessly.

Suddenly, two skinny arms are resting themselves on the bar, and five sparkly purple painted nails tap against the wooden surface. Troye smiles, his heavily glittered eyelids fluttering. “I wouldn’t mind a taste.”

Tyler drops his hands like Dan is suddenly on fire, forgetting all about him as he sidles over to where Troye leans over the bar. “Hi, twink.”

“Hey.”

Dan rolls his eyes, sure he’s about to watch another horrendous display of Troye dangling himself above Tyler on a string, when suddenly Troye is hoisting himself up and smashing his lips against Tyler’s.

Dan’s mouth falls open in pure shock, and he can only stare, gobsmacked, as Tyler smiles back into the kiss, wrapping his hand around the back of Troye’s neck. The kiss lasts a while, making it kind of weird that Dan is just staring, but he cannot for the life of him understand what is happening. Finally, they break apart. Dan is brimming with questions, but Tyler seems to have forgotten he’s even there.

“What’re you doing later?” Troye purrs, leaning in to nip at Tyler’s lower lip.

“I don’t get off work until half two,” Tyler replies. “Isn’t that past your bedtime?”

Dan resists the urge to vomit on them both, barely. Troye laughs, then slips back to his side of the bar, winking. 

“You wish, old man,” he says. “Text me when you’re out of here. I might reply. If you’re lucky.”

With that, and a fluttery little wave of his dainty hand, Troye disappears into the crowd. Tyler sighs happily, then turns to Dan, shrugging causally. “What?”

“Oh. My.  _GO_ -”

Once again, Tyler’s hand slams itself over Dan’s mouth. “Shhhhh. Please for the love of everything glittery, reach into your ass and find wherever you’ve stored your chill. I don’t _know_  how I swung it, but I did.”

Cautiously, Tyler removes his hand from Dan’s mouth. “I cannot believe you actually got him,” Dan whispers, the words falling out in a rush. “How? When?” Dan reaches for the nearest available thing to throw at Tyler - a lime wedge - and it hits him in the face. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”

Tyler chuckles, leaning against the sink. “No offence, Dan, but your celeb-drama kinda sucks the attention from the room.”

Guiltily, Dan nods, miming a zip across his lips. Again, Tyler laughs.

“It happened at my party.” He shrugs, unusually coy, smiling at some private memory. “Everyone left, and he.... stayed.”

Dan flaps his hands in excitement, not knowing how to deal with this. “I’m stunned, Ty. Honestly, kudos. I really thought you were chasing your tail there.”

“So did I, kinda.”

“So are you guys like… official?”

“Oh my God  _please_  don’t jinx it.”

“Sorry.” Dan shakes his head in wonder. “Well, clearly there’s something about this bar that gives off an extraordinary amount of luck in terms of impossible-seeming love.”

“You’re telling me,” Tyler says, then leans in close. “Dodie and Lara made out the other day.”

“What!?”

A customer waves from the end of the bar then, and Tyler starts towards them, chuckling. “And you seriously considered the idea that you and Phil weren’t written in the stars?”

*

It’s a half-formed decision, and Dan’s not sure he won’t chicken out of it, so he doesn’t tell Tyler where he’s going after work. Instead, he helps clear up, staying until the last minute. He sends Lara and Dodie home as soon as the floor is mopped (Tyler must be right; they’re both blushing furiously whenever they get within two feet of each other), then tells Ty he’ll lock up.

“You sure, babe?” Ty asks, already pulling on his coat.

“I’m sure. Go find your boy-toy. No doubt he’ll be out on West Street till eight in the morning.”

“Ugh, you’re probably right,” Ty says, grimacing, though there’s a smile tucked beneath. “What have I gotten myself into? I’ll have to get him a leash.”

“Kinky.”

“I’ll get Phil a matching one for you,” Tyler jokes, pinching Dan’s cheek. “We can take you for walkies on the pier.”

“Get off,” Dan grumbles, batting Ty away.

“Love you,” Ty tells him. “And, Dan?”

“Mm?”

“Good luck.”

Dan frowns at him. “With what?”

The only response Tyler gives is a cackle, one that echoes around the bar even after he’s slipped out of the door. 

*

The walk to Phil’s seems to take longer, tonight. The moon is full, and it splashes down along the seafront, glinting off the ocean. A strong wind has rolled in from across the channel, churning the waves into a froth. Dan spends longer than he normally might just staring out at the water, awed by the sight.

He tries to imagine what he might say when he gets to Phil’s door; despite wanting to resolve everything, Dan has no clue how to do so, still. And who knows, perhaps Phil has seen the error of his ways, or grown impatient with Dan’s lack of response over the last five days since they’ve spoken. Perhaps he’s changed his mind, and Dan’s wish to resolve things will be fruitless.

After a while, elbows resting on the railing, Dan notices a figure sat near the shoreline, very close to the water’s edge, completely in shadow. Dan’s instinctive panic nips at him; years of news stories about the washed up bodies of drunk idiots have made him terrified of anyone getting too near the sea at this time of night.

Right then, as if this idiot has a wire connected to Dan’s paranoia, the figure stands, pulls off his t-shirt, and walks straight into the water.

“Fuck!” Dan shouts, casting a gaze around himself. There’s nobody nearby, obviously. It’s nearly six in the morning. Everyone in Brighton is either asleep or gyrating in one of West Street’s grimier clubs. Dan doesn’t let himself think too long. He knows that hesitation could be the difference between this moron’s life and death.

He vaults over the railing and lands on his knees on the stony beach below. It hurts like a motherfucker, especially as there’s a rip in his jeans at each knee, but he doesn’t stop. He stands and sprints down the beach, the wind whipping at him, billowing his t-shirt out behind him. In a last, fleeting moment of conscious thought, Dan digs into his jeans pocket and digs out his iPhone, which he throws to the ground as soon as his shoes touch wet sand.

The shock of the icy water is horrendous, worse than he’d imagined, but he doesn’t slow, just splashing through the water until he’s up to his shins, his thighs, his waist. His trainers and clothes weigh heavily, dragging him as he gets past the point where he can touch the bottom.

The figure is bobbing just ahead, still too dark to make out properly.

“Hey!” Dan shouts, salt water splashing into his mouth as he front crawls towards the person. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing? Get out of the water!”

The figure just stays motionless in the thrashing waves. Dan swims closer; his lungs burn, fighting for breath already, but he’ll be damned if he lets another drunk idiot with a God complex die in the Brighton sea in the wee hours.

“Swim back to shore you dickhead! Are you insane? It’s practically storming-”

“Dan?”

The shock of hearing his own name is enough to make Dan halt, and his lack of movement makes him slip beneath the surface. An arm hauls him back up, and he gasps, spluttering around the water he’s inhaled. The full moon hits the stranger’s face, illuminating him at last; Dan’s heart falters, and every muscle in his body tenses.

He clutches at Phil’s wrist, a surge of adrenaline propelling him now, and he turns, yanking Phil after him as he fights his way, kicking and struggling, back to the beach. Once their feet touch the sand, Dan could cry in relief. He’s tugging so hard on Phil’s arm that he’s sure it’s about to pop out of its socket, Barbie-doll-style, but Phil isn’t so much as squeaking in complaint.

Dan doesn’t stop tugging until the waves are far behind them, until stones crunch under his sodden shoes, until the weight of his sopping, freezing t-shirt all but pulls him to the ground.

He turns to Phil, then shoves him hard in the chest. “What the fuck were you thinking?! You absolute fucking moron, Phil! You could’ve died!”

Phil staggers backwards with the force of Dan’s shove. He’s shirtless, steam rising off of his bare, glistening skin. For once, Dan couldn’t care less about the sight of his body. If he’d been a few moments too late, it might’ve been a damn corpse anyway.

Dan shoves him again, a wild, vicious fury pulsating through him. He’s seconds away from passing out from both cold and overexertion, but he has enough energy left to beat Phil up for being so reckless.

Or at least he would, if Phil didn’t seize hold of his wrists, stopping him. “Dan, calm down.”

Dan fights against his hold, teeth chattering madly. “No! I told you not to go in the sea at night, Phil!  _Especially_  when nobody is around! I warned you it was dangerous, do you have any idea what the current can do? No! Because you live a life where you don’t have to care about that shit-”

Phil tugs him inwards, crushing Dan against his chest. Dan struggles and shouts, but Phil wraps him in two big, thick arms. It’s so warm. It’s so familiar. It’s something that could have been ripped away from him in seconds by one tug of a current, one wave strong enough to pull Phil underneath it.

“You could’ve died,” Dan weeps, confused about whether he’s tasting sea water or tears.

He claws at Phil’s back, pressing himself closer. When Phil leans in to kiss him, Dan responds with ferocity, not caring about their teeth clacking or whether Phil will be grossed out by the wet slide of his salty lips.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says eventually. “I’m sorry, I was being stupid. I’m okay. I’m okay now.”

Dan goes limp against him. “Never do that again,” he whispers. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“What were you  _doing_?”

“I… don’t know. I just like the sea. I was upset, and lonely. I thought I’d go for a swim to take my mind off things.”

Dan shudders, his over-wrought brain pelting him with imaginings of what might have happened were he not there. “I hate you.” There’s a pause, the wind howling around Dan’s ears. “No, that’s not true. I love you. So much. I’m in love with you. Please don’t do that to me again.”

Softly, breathed against the crown of Dan’s head, Phil laughs. “I know.”

He kisses into Dan’s hair, making his eyes go wide. 

“You…” Dan draws back to look him in the eye. “You  _know_? Oh God, were you there when I shouted it into the microphone?”

Phil stills, then snorts with laughter. “Um… what?”

“Nothing,” Dan says quickly. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I know because you told me,” Phil says. “That night we first… y’know.” Dan blushes, knowing exactly what Phil means. “I wondered if you maybe hadn’t meant to say it out loud.”

“Oh God,” Dan sighs, shivering. “I’m so embarrassing.”

“It’s okay,” Phil says, tilting his chin up so their eyes meet. “Because I love you too.”

Seeing no available verbal response, Dan chooses to express how he feels about such a wild, magical statement by kissing Phil so hard that he’s sure it probably bruises a bit. “I’m so mad at you,” Dan mumbles against his lips. “And I’m fucking freezing. But fuck, oh my God. You do?”

Phil laughs, then, for some reason, lets go of him. Immediately, the full force of the ferocious wind hits Dan’s bare arms, and he nearly screams. But then he’s being wrapped in something fluffy and warm.

“You brought a towel?” Dan asks, bewildered by it.

“I was just going for a swim, I told you.”

Dan rolls his eyes, but grumpily pulls the towel tighter around himself. “And now we’re going back inside.”

“Gladly.”

*

After being pushed into a scalding shower to ‘ward of hypothermia’, Dan is swaddled in dry pyjamas and a blanket, and sat on Phil’s sofa. A while later, Phil walks in with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands; they’re piled ridiculously high with whipped cream, and smothered in mini marshmallows. Dan takes his with a fond smile, one that he tries to hide, as he’s still not over the trauma of everything that just occurred.

“Am I forgiven yet?”

“Give it time,” Dan answers, scooping some cream into his mouth.

Out of Phil’s window, the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon. It warms the oak of Phil’s floor, making the room appear caramelly, a sprinkling of dust swirling through the air.

“So did you just happen to be walking by, or were you on your way to mine for some reason?”

Dan swallows his mouthful of cream. “I was coming to tell you... um...” 

“If you were coming to tell me that you never want to see me again, it makes my love confession earlier a little awkward.”

Dan smiles ruefully, tummy fluttering again at the reminder that, somehow, impossibly, Phil  _loves_  him. “No,” Dan says quietly. “Tyler reminded me of something. That’s what I was coming to tell you.”

“Oh?”

Phil has a smear of whipped cream on his nose. Dan smiles, then leans in to brush it off with his thumb. “Mm. He reminded me that you’re literally a dream come true, in my eyes.” Something like discomfort flickers across Phil’s face, and he leans away, but Dan catches him by the arm, knowing why. “I’m not delusional. I know you’re not really this glamorous superstar called AmazingPhil. But you’re also not just Phil. You’re both of those people, together, and I don’t think I realised it until Tyler spelled it out. I don’t want one without the other, because then you wouldn’t be you. Am I making any sense?”

“Not sure,” Phil laughs. “I’m quite tired.”

Dan chuckles, nodding. “Um, basically I’m saying I was a prat. I left you at that party and I shouldn’t have, because what did I expect? You warned me that it would be… an adjustment, and I didn’t even give it a try.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Phil says with a sigh. “If you were with someone else, you wouldn’t have to endure-”

“I don’t want someone else.” Dan straightens up, then draws Phil towards him, one hand at the back of his neck. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

“It won’t always be fun,” Phil warns, eyes already flicking to Dan’s mouth. “There’ll be more parties and-”

“It will be worth it.”

“The fans will be relentless-”

“But I’ll get to be with you.”

“Heather will try and make you work for Elite, and Charlie will probably still be a snarky asshole sometimes, and-”

“Phil,” Dan interrupts for a final time. He presses a kiss to Phil’s lips, still faintly tasting of salt. “Let’s just give us a try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story! Love to you all, hopefully back soon <3 xxx


	12. The Edge of Nowhere('s Such A Beautiful Place)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four Years Later. One More Try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this special holiday treat of Four Years Later in the GMAT universe! Love to you all and happy holidays!! xx

There’s a taut pebble of dried gum stuck to the bottom of Dan’s shoe. He can feel it pressing into the ball of his foot. He tries to focus on the words the woman in front of him is saying, but all he can think about is when he’ll be able to scrape the gum off. He imagines it might take a long time. It might need careful attention, hot, soapy water and some kind of thin instrument to pick it out of the grooves.

“...which will all fit into the  _Casablanca_  theme,” the woman finishes. She has short, bright pink hair. Bubblegum pink, Dan thinks, feeling that bulbous dried goo digging into his sole. 

Dan’s fixed, strained smile falters. “Sorry, did you say  _Casablanca_?”

Pink-hair gives him a withering look. “Ye-es, like I’ve been explaining. The shoot is going to be themed around the film  _Casablanca_.”

Dan blinks, struggling to make sense of this. “Right,” he says. The gum prods insistently. “Um, why is that, again?”

The woman shrugs, her bored expression returning to the iPad in her hands. “The film’s about tragically torn-apart ex-lovers, right?” She appears to be scrolling through the Wikipedia page for ‘Casablanca (film)’. Dan tries not to crane his neck to see. She reads for a few more seconds, then locks the screen, and all Dan’s hopes of working out what on earth is in store for him are gone in a second. “Guess the director thought he was being clever.”

Just then, a loud, fake-enthusiastic voice that can belong only to Paul, the very director Dan is considering castrating, booms from across the studio. “Phil! You’ve made it, sweetpea! How are you?”

Dan’s stomach drops in the direction of the gum. He tries sending pink-hair a pleading look, but she’s already forgotten him, headset mic pushed to her mouth as she mutters something about “the talent finally showing up”. Reluctantly, Dan turns, knowing full well that he’s no more prepared to see Phil today than he was four weeks ago when he agreed to this stupid photo shoot.

Phil is being fawned over by a plethora of people; a robust woman in charge of wardrobe, two identical-looking skinny men doing makeup, and a smattering of others from lighting, art direction, or various other departments. These people seem to know Phil personally, and greet him with fond hugs, cheek kisses, and high-pitched catch-up questions. Baffled, Dan can only observe this scene from afar. He’s occasionally attempted to befriend the behind-the-scenes people on shoots before, but find that they tend to treat him with a polite but tired indifference that he imagines must come from dealing with thousands of vapid, interchangeable people that look just like him each day.  

Phil’s arms wrap tightly around the wardrobe woman, rocking with her from side to side, his eyes squeezed shut. There’s such delight in his expression that Dan knows the two of them must share a genuine friendship. Only Phil could manage to charm the people Dan had written off long ago as un-charmable. Even pink-hair is punching Phil affectionately in the shoulder, grinning.

Just as the creeping realisation that he’s gawping unashamedly spreads through Dan, Phil’s eyes catch his across the large studio. His big smile wavers, and is gone in an instant. Dan thinks about a wave, but as Phil straightens and turns from him, Dan thinks he can just about spot the brief flash of leftover hurt across his striking features, and decides against it.

“Did you read the brief we sent over?” pink-hair is asking Phil now, stealing his attention.

“I did, yeah,” Phil answers. “ _Casablanca_ , right? I watched the film last night as a little pre-homework.”

Evidently, from pink-hair’s answering grin, no answer could have pleased her more. She turns to shoot Dan a quick look that could only translate to  _‘see, it’s not difficult!’_  and Dan has the decency to duck his head in what he assumes will be his first shame-filled stance of the day.

 _“Think of what this will do for your career, Dan,”_  Heather had said, four weeks ago, when she’d dropped the bombshell. _“The most popular gay ex-couple on the scene, back together for a reunion shoot! Sharon and Alaska are already quaking. I’m salivating just thinking about the headlines.”_

Dan had thought, at the time, that he’d agreed to please Heather, or at least get her off his back. He doesn’t take many modelling jobs these days, and he’s half-thinking that she’s about to drop him altogether. But if he’s honest with himself, Dan didn’t say yes to this hellish, farcical parade for any reason other than to see Phil again. It’s masochistic, and dumb, and Tyler has told him roughly five-hundred times that it’s a stupid idea, but the moment he learned that Phil had for some reason agreed to do it, he’d said yes in a heartbeat. It’s been two years, four weeks, and twenty-one days since he last saw Phil in the flesh. Over two years since he grabbed Phil’s hand in the midst of a storm on Brighton beach, forced out words that nearly choked him on their way up his throat, and watched the shimmering light drain out of two brilliantly blue eyes.

Mostly because he feels he’s about to topple over from the crushing weight of what he’s signed up for, Dan moves to perch on a nearby bench. He hoists his foot up onto his knee, and studies the dried gum. It’s pretty stuck in there, as expected. He’s just beginning to scrape at it with a stray pencil he’s found, when he feels someone approach.

“Hi.”

Dan looks up; it’s Phil. Every bit as throat-constrictingly gorgeous in the flesh as he always has been. Dan wonders if he could pretend he’s gone deaf in the past two years. But he looks up, ready to begin signing his apology, and is struck dumb by the residual pain in Phil’s expression. His eyes have changed. In his photos, they’re still that shocking, electric shade of K-Pop-star blue. In person, they’re paler, misted.

“Hi,” Dan whispers back. The pencil falls from his fingers, rolling off along the shiny studio floor. Both of them watch it escaping; Dan imagines Phil wishes he were the pencil, breaking for freedom. “So…” Dan says, then his mind goes blank.

“I’m surprised you agreed to this,” Phil says. Dan wonders whether he should stand up, but he doesn’t want to appear challenging in any way. Phil is deserving of the extra status the added height gives him; besides, towering over Dan is something he’s always done, and rightly so. “I almost didn’t.”

“Needed the cash, did you?” Dan jokes, but it falls flat.

Phil’s face is devoid of the sweet kindness Dan remembers. Now he looks hollow, and in the wake of Dan’s poor attempt to lighten the mood, kind of pissed off. “I’m doing you a favour, you know,” he says.

Dan places his foot back on the ground, abandoning the gum mission. “Well, thanks. Glad you could pencil me in.”

He doesn’t mean it to sound so bitter, but there’s an unmistakable edge to his voice, and Phil hears it. He rolls his eyes, and stalks off, back towards his best friend the wardrobe woman, who is apparently worth more time and energy than Phil’s ex-boyfriend of two years.

“Dan, we need you in makeup,” pink-hair calls from across the room.

*

The green screen takes some getting used to. For one thing, it’s garish and distracting, a constant lime wall at the edge of Dan’s vision. Phil is in front of him, his wide-brimmed hat angled daintily atop his head. The makeup artist has contoured his face to look more feminine, highlighting his sharp cheekbones, the point of his chin. There’s a rose tint to his cheeks, and his eyelashes have been glossed with clear mascara. Dan can see all of these minute tweaks to Phil’s appearance, because their faces are less than a few feet apart.

For the past half an hour, Dan’s thumb and forefinger have been loosely pinching Phil’s chin; in this recreation of  _Casablanca_ ’s final scene, Phil is playing Ilsa, which means Dan is playing Rick.The decision to cast him as the male lead seems preposterous to Dan; it takes one look at he and Phil to deduce which of them ‘wore the trousers’ so to speak, but he can’t exactly argue with the director’s ‘vision’, and besides, he’s already been fitted in the damn trench coat and fedora.

“Could you loosen your grip? Or are you trying to rip my chin off?”

Dan unclenches his fingers, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Phil clicks his jaw, annoyed. In the background, the camera snaps repeatedly above the low, excitable chatter of the Paul the director, along with the photographer, and a host of other people slipping their input into the conversation.

“You must be hating this,” Phil says through gritted teeth. Dan wants to look away from the level, hard stare Phil’s been aiming at him for the past twenty minutes, but Paul will only moan if he does. He can’t bear the sight of those cobalt eyes, dulled to a flat, metallic grey. “You never liked doing anything work-related with me.”

Dan shifts from foot to foot; he can hear Paul tutting from across the room. He tries his best to keep still. “That’s not necessarily true.”

“Don’t mind doing it solo, though, apparently,” Phil says acidly, as if Dan hadn’t spoken.

“If you remember, I quit the bar for  _you_.” Dan knows he should let it go, let Phil make his jibes, and take them in his stride as he deserves. But in practice, this is actually a lot harder than it sounds. “When we broke up I didn’t have a job or a place to live. So what if I took up Heather’s offer for a few shoots? I was broke, and desperate, and-”

“Riding on my brand’s coat-tails to get your career off the ground?” Phil jerks backwards, pulling his chin out of Dan’s fingers. “After what you did, all those ‘I’m-so-heartbroken’ Instagram posts were a bucket of salt in my wound, wouldn’t you say?”

“Um, Phil, we’re not done yet,” Paul calls; Phil takes a deep, shuddering breath, but steps back into Dan’s space. Tentatively, Dan lifts his fingers to Phil’s chin again, though he’s wary Phil might bite them off, at this point. “Right,” Paul says briskly. “Dan, could you just say your line? We’re gonna do a quick burst.”

The guilt, the shame that dragged Dan under its waves two years ago is all welling up in his chest again. He thought it had washed away with the waterfalls of drink he’d knocked back in the weeks after the breakup, but apparently it’s just been lying dormant until now.

“Dan?” Paul prompts. He sounds irritable. “The line?”

Dan swallows something acidic. He meets two icy eyes, shadowed by a crooked, wide-brimmed hat. “Here’s looking at you, Phil,” he says.

*

“They were Heather’s idea,” Dan mumbles, stood over the catering table beside Phil. “The captions. I should never have let her know the password to my account.”

Surprisingly, the lame excuse seems to give Phil reason to pause. He side-eyes Dan, his paper plate held at chest height. Then, he sighs through his nose, and reaches for a breadstick.

“Been there,” he admits. “I changed my password after she posted a cropped photo of just my feet.”

“Changed mine after two days,” Dan says, ridiculously glad that for this small trespass at least, he could be forgiven. “I was full-on pissed that she tagged you in those posts even after…” Dan trails off, glancing at Phil warily. “Anyway, she’s nuts. I should have messaged you and apologised at the time, but...”

Phil scoffs, biting off the tip of his breadstick. “I think it was in your best interest to stay far away from my inbox at that time.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dan agrees. He turns to the spread of ominous-looking food. He decides to play it safe with one of the cocktail sticks of cheese and pineapple cubes. When he pulls one of the cheese cubes off with his teeth, he turns to find Phil wrinkling his nose. Dan snorts around his mouthful. “Forgot about your cheese-phobia.”

For a second, Phil looks as if he’s on the verge of a smile. Dan can see the flicker of an urge to laugh and shove Dan in the side with some stupid, unfunny retort. But the urge doesn’t manage to battle its way through the many layers of hurt and betrayal that have piled on top of it.

So instead, Phil says, “am I supposed to be surprised you’ve stopped caring about me? You clearly never gave much of a fuck in the first place.”

Then he tosses the paper plate to the table, frisbee-style, and stalks away in the direction of the wardrobe woman, leaving Dan alone with his sweaty cheese cubes, and some soggy pineapple.

*

There’s a problem with the lights, so Dan lets his fingers wander over the keys, picking out the vague melody he might remember from a film he’s only half-sure he’s ever seen. Phil isn’t talking to him, so Dan allows himself to drift away with it, getting lost in what has now become more of an explorative journey around the original tune. Several minutes in, he senses a weighty stare from the man sat atop the piano, and pauses, looking up. There’s a perplexed, astounded look on Phil’s face, as if Dan has just sprouted a third ear in the centre of his forehead.

“What?” Dan asks.

“I didn’t know you played piano.” Phil sounds accusatory. “How the hell did I not know you played piano?”

Dan shrugs, eyes falling back to the keys. He starts to play again, softer this time. “I dunno. There weren’t many pianos around when we were together.”

Phil scoffs. “That’s such a typical  _you_  thing to say. This is the kind of shit you’re supposed to share with your partner. It’s called intimacy.”

Accidentally, Dan hits the wrong note, and the melody sours. Phil winces. “I shared things with you,” Dan says quietly. “The important things. Why does it matter if I can carve out a bad tune on a piano now and then?”

“Because…” Phil flounders, mouth open, no words escaping. A few seconds later, he abandons it. “Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

The stiff, white shirt Dan’s wearing beneath his sparkly suit jacket feels too tight across his chest. He can only breathe shallowly, lungs refusing to expand all the way. He plays on for a while, but eventually it just seems too awkward, and his fingers slow, then stop.

“Right,” Paul shouts from somewhere in the background. “We’re back on. Positions, boys.”

Phil sits up straighter, adjusting his own suit jacket. Dan just remains how he is, fingers hovering over the keys as if he’s about to play, hunched forwards because he feels like he’s being dragged into the floor with each passing second.

“Dan, could you keep playing?” Paul asks loudly.  “Adds to the realism.”

Reluctantly, Dan begins again. He has no desire to butcher ‘As Time Goes By’ for a second time, so instead he slips into his old favourite: a Muse song, painstakingly learned by ear years ago. He can sense, somehow, in the shift of Phil’s body, that he recognises it. Oddly, it seems to relax him. Dan can almost visualise the anger, the irritation in the older man, pouring away, through the slits between the keys Dan presses, into the cavity of the grand piano, to be beaten into dust by the hammers as they knock against their strings.

Snatching the opportunity, Dan speaks without pause. “I learned when I was about thirteen. I mowed lawns to pay for the lessons. My teacher was an old woman, and she was mean, and I hated going to her. So, one day, about a year later, I stopped.”

Phil listens to all of this intently, eyes burrowing into Dan’s bowed head. In the vacuum left in the wake of Dan’s words, the only sound is the low murmur of the director, conferring with the photographer above the tinkling notes of the piano. A camera clicks, miles away, and then again. And again.

“Thank you,” Phil murmurs.

Dan nods, not looking up. “I know I can be kind of private. I never wanted to keep things from you. I’m not too good at sharing. But I guess you noticed that.”

“After a while I stopped asking you stuff,” Phil says, voice low, quiet. “You clearly didn’t want to tell me about yourself beyond the surface, so I left it. I hoped one day you might feel comfortable enough to open up to me on your own.” There’s a pause, filled with sweet, soft music. “Didn’t happen like that, in the end.”

Dan’s fingers jerk, and he makes a jarring mistake, making Phil wince again. He lifts his head, intending to look straight at Phil, but doesn’t quite manage. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

Dan wants to say more, but the director shouts, interrupting them. “Okay, Phil. Say the line in 3, 2, _1_.”

Dan can feel his hesitation. He can feel how badly Phil doesn’t want to say it. And then, because the Angels watching this scene unfold want to turn it into some poetic, acidly cruel irony, Dan reaches the end of the song. He can no longer distract himself with thoughts of where to move his hands. He looks up at Phil, lost and helpless.

“Play it again, Dan,” Phil says. His eyes are shining.

*

The last time Dan was in this position, he was a lot more naked, and Phil looked a lot less as though he were about to throttle him. Aside from in a kinky way, perhaps. From what Dan remembers, Phil was never shy about experimentation.  _“Try new things!”_  was a familiar phrase uttered in their flat, once.

Phil is sat on a chair that’s draped in white sheets. He is shirtless, and hat-less, and holds a fake gun in his right hand. According to pink-hair, the gun is the actual same one that Ingrid Bergman pointed at Humphrey Bogart back in 1942. This iconic prop is now held to Dan’s bare chest, right where his heart is. He is sat on Phil’s lap, facing him, one leg either side of Phil’s.

Dan is trying, he’s _really trying_ , not to think anything inappropriate, but he can’t lie to himself indefinitely. Just sitting this way is awakening all sorts of memories, despite the addition of a fake weapon. Phil, on the other hand, just seems to be incredibly pissed off about being made to be in such an incriminating position. Honestly, Dan doesn’t blame him. This is pushing the two of them to their absolute limits, and Paul is surely aware of that. It’s the last pose though, and after it’s over they can go back to their separate lives, not needing to see each other ever again if they choose. Never mind that the idea of falling back into a Phil-less existence makes Dan ache, deep inside, like considering leaving this studio without one of his lungs.

“Oh my God, stop,” Phil hisses, startling Dan.

“Stop what?”

“Stop  _fidgeting_.”

“Oh,” Dan says, embarrassed. “Sorry. Didn’t notice.”

“Ever the considerate one,” Phil mutters. There’s a red splotchiness to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Dan adjusts himself in Phil’s lap for the last time, determined to get comfortable if they’re doing this for much longer. “Dan,” Phil says, harshly. “Stop moving! Are you trying to- to…”

He trails off, but Dan understands perfectly well. He can’t help it - he laughs. Phil balks at him, dismayed. “Sorry, sorry,” Dan says, but the smirk is still twisting his lips. “I’m not trying to do anything, I swear.”

“Then stop  _laughing_ ,” Phil says, though he sounds dangerously on the verge of laughing himself.

Dan snorts. “This is so bloody ridiculous. What are we even doing?”

Phil lets out a titter of laughter which Dan imagines he would rather have kept inside. “God knows. I guess it’s supposed to look like the tasteful love-making scene they cut out of the PG-rated film.”

Dan wrinkles his nose. He has his arms draped over Phil’s shoulders, upon the director’s insistence; the awkward angle draws his attention, and he shakes his head. “Rick and Ilsa would never have done it like this.”

“ _We_  barely ever did it like this,” Phil says, which turns the tips of Dan’s ears an interesting shade of pink that will surely be great fun for the touch-up department to photoshop away.

Dan can’t think of anything to say to this except, “shame, really.”

As soon as the two, idiotic and inappropriate words leave his lips, Dan regrets them. He opens his mouth, as if he could hoover them back up, but to his shock, he notices Phil’s chin jerk downwards, once, twice. He’s nodding.

“Guess we didn’t do anything much, towards the end,” Phil muses.

His eyes are glazed, and Dan knows he’s seeing empty sides of the bed, and both of them working well into the wee hours, and horrendous fights, and slamming doors, and the long, agonising silences that followed.

“S’not my fault you fell asleep the second you got back from shoots on the other side of the world, and didn’t even notice the lingerie I strapped on to seduce you,” Dan says tetchily; he’s been holding onto that resentment for a long time. It might be his imagination, but at the word ‘lingerie’ he thought he felt a little twitch beneath him.

Phil’s eyes have lost their distant sheen, and are now sharply focused on him. “I’m… sorry I missed that.”

Dan shrugs. “You snooze you lose, mate. Literally.”

Unexpectedly, Phil laughs. It’s his proper, wide-mouthed, full laugh, and for a moment his eyes flicker with dormant light. In the next moment, it’s gone again, but the glimpse was enough. At least Dan knows it’s not gone completely.

“Phil, could you jam the gun into Dan’s-”

“Whatever you’re about to say, Paul, the answer is no,” Phil says, tone firm and unwavering. “This is as far as I am going.”

Dan glances at the director, and sees him shrink back into himself, as though chastened by Phil’s refusal. The bastard knows he’s pushing his luck.

“Why him, Dan?”

Phil’s question is so out of the blue that he may as well have pulled the trigger on the gun he’s got pressed to Dan’s ribs. Dan can’t answer. The moisture has vacated his mouth, and a stone has dropped, heavy and dull, into his stomach.

“It could have been anyone,” Phil whispers, unbearably pained. “But you chose him.”

Dan swallows, dryly. It hurts his throat, makes his eyes water. “It- it had to be him.” Oh God, and Phil’s looking like he needs the explanation, the one Dan avoided the first time around, so Dan’s actually going to have to tell him, while sitting in his fucking lap. “With anyone else you’d have forgiven me. You’d have told me we could get past it, and that I was just acting out. And it would have worked. I loved you obsessively. Absurdly. You could so easily have convinced me to stay.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Phil says, and rightly so. “If you loved me so much, then why did you want to leave me?”

“Oh God, Phil. I didn’t  _want_  to,” Dan says. An ache, huge and consuming, radiates in his chest, right where the muzzle of the gun rests. “But we’d been miserable for a long time.”

Phil’s expression changes so quickly it’s as if Dan slapped him. “We weren’t miserable,” he says, just as Dan feared he might. “I loved you. I gave you everything you could want. You didn’t even have to work in the bar anymore-”

“I wanted  _you_ ,” Dan interrupts. “That’s why I quit the bar. It was to be around you, not because I was after some 50’s housewife lifestyle, lunching at the country club and getting my nails done to pass the time. I thought if I had more free time I could join you on shoots, or you’d take me to Hawaii or wherever you were jetting off to that week, so we could spend some time with each other. But you never did. You were just  _gone_ , all the time. So, in the end it was just me, rattling around in a huge, lonely flat by myself, aching for the moment you’d come home. And then when you did, you’d be too tired to do anything, so you’d fall asleep, and I’d stay up, and drink wine, alone, and cry.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Phil protests. “I wasn’t gone that much.”

“Phil, you once went to Milan Fashion Week and didn’t come home for a month.”

Phil shifts, looking uncomfortable. “I got caught up with some Italian designers. They wanted me to front their campaign.”

“You didn’t even sort out your foreign data plan. I couldn’t so much as call you.”

He at least has the decency to look ashamed. “I apologised for that when I got back.”

“Which would have been fine if it’d been the only time,” Dan argues. “But you know it wasn’t. I can’t count the number of times I was left at home, waiting for you to come back from some party or other.”

“You never wanted to come to the parties! You said they were pointless, vapid-” 

“That’s not the point!”

“Guys!” The director barks, making both their heads snap around. “Do you think we can’t hear you? Save the drama for when we wrap!”

Indignant, both Dan and Phil’s eyes roll back simultaneously. 

“It’s ancient history now,” Dan says under his breath after a few minutes. “All I’m saying is that it didn’t exactly feel great to constantly be second best to Italian designers, or Heather, or Charlie, or-”

“Don’t say his name,” Phil butts in, venomous.

Stunned into silence, Dan simply drops his gaze to their laps. Another three, agonisingly awkward minutes pass. “It had to be him. I’m sorry.”

“You know what I never understood,” Phil says. His voice and face are drained completely of emotion; a terrifying thing to observe from inches away. “Is how you managed to get into his pants anyway. He loathed you. He wouldn’t have touched you with a ten foot pole.”

Dan has the decency to squirm in discomfort; this time, Phil doesn’t complain, or redden. “You’re right. He did hate me.”

“Then again,” Phil continues in a murmur, eyes distant, unfocused. “I thought you hated him too, and clearly I was mistaken there.”

“We struck a deal,” Dan blurts.

His heart is pounding; he swore to himself that he’d never tell Phil this, would stick to his story until one of them were laid on their deathbed. Slowly, Phil’s eyes pull back into focus, and he stares at Dan, half-furious, half-stunned.

“A  _deal_?”

Dan nods; he can sense the hatred seeping out of Phil’s pores, and knows, without a doubt, that he deserves every last ounce of it. “Yes. If he’d… sleep with me, I’d let him leak the story of how he broke us up. I said I’d take a photo with him, even, as proof, and that I’d never deny it.”

Phil’s knees start to shake. Dan is certain he’s about to be bucked off. “You’re a sick, demented, evil person,” Phil hisses in a rush. “I thought you were a dick before, but that’s sadistic.”

“It’s all I could think of to do,” Dan says. He’s going for calm and steady but it just comes out tearful.

“All you could think of was to do was call up Charlie Hickory and whore yourself out to him?” Phil is seething. He’s abandoned any attempt to keep quiet for Paul, who is staring unsurely at the unfolding scene. “You could’ve just talked to me if you were unhappy, Dan!”

“I tried!” Dan is well aware he’s fighting on the losing side here, but if they’re going to dissect this horrible, awful breakup, Phil might as well have all the facts to hurl back at Dan. “I tried so many times. If I brought up any problems, you’d freak out and persuade me things would change, and that you couldn’t lose me, and that you’d try harder. But things didn’t change, and I just got more and more miserable as I turned into some needy kid clamouring for your attention.” Dan stops when he notices Phil’s forehead has smoothed out, and his eyes have regained that chilling blankness once again. “We gave us a try, Phil. A really good try. It didn’t work.”

There’s a long silence, punctuated only by the tentative click of the camera shutter every so often. Dan removes his arms from Phil’s shoulders, and the gun falls into Phil’s lap.

“Well,” Phil says eventually. “I guess we’ll always have Brighton.”

*

Of all the places Dan expected to be at ten o’clock this evening, sat at a round table opposite Phil in the back of a very English pub, hops hanging above their heads and the strong fug of ale in the air, was not one of them. The pub is packed with people, all laughing and talking animatedly, as if they are the embodiments of everything Dan and Phil have lost. In front of them, on the table, are two tankards of a flat, lukewarm beer Dan doesn’t remember which of them ordered. 

It seems impossible that they are in this place, alone, together. All Dan can remember is a skinny twenty-something-year-old boy handing him a moist cloth to wipe off makeup or possibly tears, and then turning to find Phil, still shirtless, still contoured, asking in a monotonous tone if Dan wants to get a drink with him. Dumb and totally caught off guard, Dan had just nodded, and now here they are, in the first pub they found after leaving the studio. Although it’s not the kind of establishment either of them would choose, Dan is at least glad that it’s unlikely that anyone who follows his or Phil’s Instagram lives would frequent it either.

Dan lifts the beer to his lips and sips it. As expected, it’s bitter, pungent, and disgusting. He takes another, larger gulp. Gross beer or not, he’s not about to attempt to get through this weird, unprecedented ex-date sober.

“I thought, for a while, that maybe you’d always loved him,” Phil says suddenly, as if they’ve been having a conversation. “I thought maybe all the times he came over and I wasn’t there had slowly blossomed into something I never would have seen coming. That your despisal of each other tipped over into some great passionate affair.”

Dan retches, then burps from the beer. “That’s disgusting.”

“The beer?”

“No, the idea of me and Charlie having a steamy romance,” Dan replies, shuddering for effect.

Phil surveys him silently, his own beer left untouched before him. A deep line appears in his forehead as his dark brows knit together. He has more lines on his face than he had before, Dan notices. Around his eyes, and nestled into the corners of his mouth. They’re small, barely noticeable, but give him an aged, mature look that sits well on him. A waiter comes by and lights the candle on their table, which embarrasses them both, but they say nothing. In the flickering orange light, Phil’s eyes seem to regain some of their warmth, though it’s just an illusion, Dan knows.

“So how was it?” Phil asks.

Dan stares. 

“How was what?”

“Charlie,” Phil says. His eyes are fixed to the candle flame. “He used to talk my ear off about his sexual prowess. Did he live up to his own hype?”

Cheeks hot and palms damp, Dan just stares into his beer. “I’m not answering that. And you shouldn’t ask me.”

Phil aims the expected glare his way, practically frothing at the mouth. “Why not? I’ve heard Charlie’s account, plastered all over social media and in every fucking tabloid for months after. What’s the matter, you afraid of hurting my feelings? It’s a little late for that, so you might as well just lay it out for me. Did he fuck you in our bed? Did you switch positions? Did he even use a condom-”

“I didn’t have sex with him,” Dan announces, too loudly, he realises a second too late, when several heads turn his way.

He shrinks in his seat, hiding behind a hand held to his forehead, and downs several gulps of beer. Phil is staring at him, he can feel it, but Dan refuses to look up. He’d sworn that he wouldn’t do this. Perhaps this beer is stronger than he thought.

“Yes you did,” Phil counters after a confused pause. “Charlie confirmed it. I asked him.”

Dan sighs, shoulders slumping. He supposes, on balance, that there’s not much point in denying his own contradictory statement now that it’s hanging, plain as day, in the candlelit air between them. He takes one last gulp of horrible beer.

“And I asked him to lie to you,” Dan says, keeping his voice low. “He didn’t care really, that I couldn’t go through with it. We’d planned to do it, but I just… there were a thousand reasons that I couldn’t.” Dan pauses, lifting his gaze to meet Phil’s for a moment. “No,” he corrects, shaking his head again. “There was only one reason.”

“I…” Phil is completely thrown, Dan can see it. He looks as if someone has just poured his beer over his head. “I don’t believe you.”

Dan shrugs, having known this would likely be coming. “Okay. You don’t have to believe me, and there’s absolutely no reason why you should. But, I’m not lying. And I think maybe, actually, the whole reason I agreed to do this, with you, today, is because I wanted you to know that.”

Dan isn’t aware of the validity of those words until they’re already out of his body. Until this moment, he’d been a mess of guilt and sadness. Now, the guilt and sadness is orderly, arranged in neat piles that he can analyse and understand. His guilt pile is for the thing he let Phil believe he did, and how Phil found out about it. His sadness is for everything he threw away with that one, stupid lie. For the years they could have had, miserable though they might have been, and for the past they built together, full of endless nights watching anime, of sleep-crusted, groggy mornings in Phil’s bed, eating crispy pancakes and dragging syrupy fingers over bare, warm skin.

Now that Phil knows the truth, even if he never believes it to be true, Dan can rest easier at night. He’ll no longer be haunted with the knowledge that Phil’s heart is broken by the worst betrayal - only with a smaller, more manageable one.

“You absolute bitch,” Phil says, and then throws what’s left of Dan’s drink into his face.

*

Phil returns with a large roll of blue tissue, the kind Dan remembers having to order endless supplies of when he worked at  _Habenero_ ’s. He tears off an enormous wad and hands it to Dan, looking guilty.

“I’m sorry again,” he says for the third time. “I think I overreacted a smidge.”

Dan blots the wad of paper over his face, trying not to inhale too deeply, as the stench of the awful beer is verging on nauseating at this point. “It’s okay,” he says, for the third time. “Honestly, I’m surprised this is the first drink in the face you’ve given me.”

Phil sits back at his chair, looking defeated. He picks up his beer and pours half into Dan’s now empty glass, then drinks some of his own. His nose wrinkles, indicating what he thinks of it.

“When I thought you were a cheating asshole, I told myself you weren’t worth anger,” Phil says with a shrug. “Now that you’re just a lying toe-rag, I seem to no longer be of that opinion.”

Dan swallows, placing the wad of tissue down on the table. “So you believe me?”

“I’m not sure,” Phil says, gnawing on his lip. He draws out his phone. “Maybe I just want to believe you.”

He’s tapping something on his phone. Suddenly, he places it in between them, and Dan sees Charlie’s name in centre screen. Phil is calling him. He reaches out and presses the loudspeaker button. Before Dan can do anything - bolt, scream, hang up - the call is answered, and Charlie’s sleazy drawl pours out of the speaker.

“If it isn’t my tunnel buddy. What’s up, gorgeous?”

“I need to ask you something,” Phil says, no preamble.

Dan holds his breath, badly hoping that Phil chooses to leave Dan’s presence out of conversation. If Dan never again speaks to the vile wad of filth in a leather jacket that is Charlie Hickory, it would be too soon.

“No, he didn’t call out your name, babe,” Charlie says. “Too busy begging me to go deeper, as far as I recall.”

Dan shrinks down in his seat again, covering his face with his hand. Phil is glaring so hard at the phone it’s a wonder it can stand the heat without exploding.

“Did you really sleep with Dan?” Phil asks.

There’s a pause, and then an awkward, fake-sounding laugh from the other end of the line. “Of course I did. Think I might still have the video around somewhere if you’re looking for pointers-”

“Charlie.”

Phil’s voice is hard, booming with authority. Dan won’t even try to pretend it doesn’t arouse him, but that’s hardly surprising, or even the first time it’s happened today for that matter.

“Phil, why are you torturing yourself?” Charlie asks, dripping with condescension. “The little bugger smelled greener grass and scrambled over the fence into my garden. Let it go. He’s not worth all this drama.”

“Charlie, you were my friend,” Phil says, voice impressively level. “I know you were angry with me because I wanted him and not you, but this was cruel, and unforgivable. Don’t pretend you did this to me for any reason than some sadistic personal revenge born out of me rejecting your drunken advances.”

“Ugh, get over yourself. I have better options.”

“Maybe now you do,” Phil says. “But back then you were burning out, fast. Even Heather said it, that your glory days were past you, that you were partying too hard and it was showing on your face.”

“Bollocks did Heather say that,” Charlie retorts, though he sounds defensive.

“I don’t blame you for jumping at Dan’s suggestion,” Phil continues smoothly. “You must’ve seen what a scandal like that could do for your career. Becoming the bad boy that lured Dan away from me.”

“Been reading Perez Hilton again?” Charlie asks. Dan can practically hear the eye roll. “I dunno what that little shit has been spouting at you, Phil, but it’s not some complicated Hitchcock plot cooked up between two conspirators against you. He was bored, you were out, and we fucked. End of.”

Dan dares to peek out from behind his hand. Phil is staring at him levelly, and Dan thinks he’s had it. Charlie’s too convincing with that bored, acidic tone of voice. 

“Did the tattoo not put you off?” Phil asks then, to Dan’s total bafflement.

On the other end of the phone, silence. And then, “the tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “The tattoo. On Dan’s hip. Of my name.” Phil’s voice is choked, cracking, but his face is completely devoid of emotion. Dan is completely perplexed by this, and stares at Phil like he’s descending into madness. He almost wants to lift his shirt right now and check that he  _doesn’t_  actually have Phil’s name scrawled there, and has somehow repressed the memory of getting it inked into him. “I told him not to get it,” Phil laments, “but you know what a fan he was. I thought it was sweet, in the end.”

“What’s your point?” Charlie asks, and Dan suddenly sits upright, realising what Phil is doing.

His eyes widen, and he locks them to Phil’s; between them they share the feral, wild excited look of two predators circling their cornered prey.

“My point is,” Phil says slowly. “Didn’t it make you think twice, when you saw it? Didn’t it put you off doing... what you did?” 

Dan holds his breath.

Charlie laughs, wickedly. “Actually, it was a turn on, love. I’m like one of those kids on the playground that wants everyone else’s toys, just to break them.” He sighs, full of pity. “Don’t worry Philly, I’m sure Dan can get it lasered off his bony bod.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Phil says, smiling wide. He stifles a laugh, eyes glittering in the candle-light. “Thanks for clearing that up, Cha.”

“...no problem,” Charlie replies. He sounds suspicious, and can probably hear the laughter in Phil’s voice. “Hey, what’s this about anyway-”

Phil hangs up, and Dan lets go of the breath in his lungs in a great whoosh. “Oh my God, you’re a fucking detective.”

Phil lifts his beer, grinning. “I could be a PI!”

“I’m like… shook,” Dan says, clinking his own beer to Phil’s. “Nice work. Might have to get your name inked on me after all.”

“Maybe on the bum,” Phil suggests. “That was always your best feature.”

Dan splutters around his next mouthful of beer. “Thanks, I think. Although that’s kind of a dig at my face.”

“That’s cute too,” Phil assures him. “But your bum…” he sighs, resting his chin in his hand, “was perfection.”

There’s no helping the blush, urged on by the booze dribbling through his veins, from blooming in Dan’s cheeks. It’s an ancient, familiar feeling, a cringey embarrassment, the same way Dan imagines anime schoolgirls must constantly feel. He remembers, long ago, feeling this way perpetually, while wiping down a sticky bartop, and scanning for impossibly blue eyes amongst a crowd.

Those same eyes stare at him across the table now, seeming to glint. “Where are you staying tonight?” Dan can’t help asking.

“I was going to get the train back to Brighton,” Phil says, picking out the words with care. They both look down at Phil’s phone, still in the middle of the table. The time reads 10:33. “I’d have to leave now to catch the last one.”

“From Victoria?”

Phil nods; there’s a hidden question deep in his eyes. Dan wonders if it’s just reflection of his own.

“That’s all the way across town,” Dan says. A moment passes, something caught in the air between them, and Dan isn’t sure that he’s going to say anything more. And then, Phil leans in, just a bit, and a thousand snatches of half-forgotten memories swipe across Dan’s vision, of first, passionate kisses, and last, tearful kisses, and all the many in between. “You could stay with me,” Dan says, heart squeezing.

There’s no flash of surprise in Phil’s eyes at the suggestion. But something closes off all the same. The light, that has been sparkling tentatively behind Phil’s eyes since Charlie revealed his fraudulence, is fading. Dan has the absurd urge to blow on the embers, to stir them.

“I can’t,” he says, and looks saddened by his own words. “You know I can’t.”

“I know you shouldn’t,” Dan says, and boldened by some long dormant sense of maddening, intense yearning flickering into life again, he leans in, and reaches his hand out across the table. “But I’m still going to ask you, one more time.”

Phil’s eyebrows lift. He seems troubled, and holds Dan’s gaze. “Go on, then.”

“Phil, do you want to stay with me tonight?”

*

When Dan had moved into his London apartment, he’d been looking for convenience, not comfort or style. He’d bought the place furnished, finding himself in a sticky spot once Phil kicked him out, and needing to find somewhere fast. Tyler’s couch was not a viable long-term solution for all sorts of reasons, the first of which being that every night Tyler would lecture Dan about what an absolute moron he’d been for letting Phil go.

Deciding he wanted to be away from Phil, away from Brighton, Dan had gathered up the few things he had, and jumped on a train to London. Once he agreed to her terms, and signed a contract, Heather took care of the rest. This flat was her find. Until now, Dan’s never looked at it too closely. He’s lived here two years and barely decorated it further than the existing furniture. Now, seeing it through Phil’s eyes, he glows with embarrassment about this.

They sit side by side on the sofa, and stare at Dan’s too-large TV, mounted on the wall. Dan’s put  _Stranger Things_  on, because he remembers that Phil likes it, but he doubts very much that Phil is paying attention. Dan had turned the lights off when they sat down to watch, mostly to hide the bare walls of this place, the lack of any distinguishing features beyond the jumpers slung over chairs, and the pizza boxes on the table.

There’s enough space between them for a whole other person - Charlie, perhaps, Dan thinks with a bitter, silent laugh. He has no idea what’s going to happen tonight, if anything. All he knows is that he won’t be the one to make a move. Somehow, though God knows how, he’s gone - in a single day - from Phil’s enemy number one, to having him right here, on the sofa in the dark, sipping port (it’s all Dan had) and watching TV.

And then, like a beam of light piercing through a grey, ominous sky, Dan feels a hand, walking across the cushion, and slipping into his. Dan says nothing, tries to remain very still. But there is nothing on Earth that could prevent him from squeezing Phil’s fingers, so hard it might cause pain.

It’s as natural and fluid as water spilling over a cliff after that. Phil tugs gently, and Dan pours over him, falling into his lap the way he has a thousand times. Phil’s hands come either side of Dan’s face, and push the curls back, flat against his scalp, as if he wants to see Dan’s face, and only Dan’s face, in the low light of the flickering TV. It feels raw, and Dan has to fight his own urge to pull away, to hide. Right now, however, he’d likely not deny Phil anything.

Phil leans in slowly, so slowly Dan thinks he might die before the touch of him, eyes flicking over Dan’s face. His lips are like ghosts of petals, velvet soft, peach plush as he presses them to Dan’s. It’s a kiss that Dan remembers, drizzled in something Dan has never tasted. A syrup sweetened with Phil’s enduring pain, with his longing for something he knows he shouldn’t long for, and Dan drinks it down in greedy gulps. His hands slide into Phil’s hair, which has now started peppering with grey at the sides.

Their kiss doesn’t break as Phil slips his hands beneath Dan’s t-shirt, and then only for a moment as he lifts it over Dan’s head, and throws it to the floor. His hands are cold, but they warm quickly against Dan’s flushing skin. To experience Phil’s graceful, gentle caress again is like hearing a song Dan had forgotten, but one that he can somehow still sing every word. They move with ease, seeming to know without speaking which place the other will dive for before they do it. They strip each other garment by garment, entirely unhurried, despite the rush of their breaths, the pounding of their hearts, and the burning, searing heat in their groins.

Once they are naked, Phil pushes Dan back, lays him out on the sofa like he’s unfurling a yoga mat, and then crawls over him, pushing another kiss to his lips. He travels down Dan’s body, seeming to use the rhythm of Dan’s staccato gasps to pace the timing of each kiss he presses to Dan’s skin on his way. When Phil’s mouth slips over his cock - warmth and soft, slippery pleasure - the moan Dan had successfully kept in until now pours out of him like a sigh. He threads fingers into Phil’s hair, and Phil, in turn, rakes his own down Dan’s thighs.

“Phil, God,” Dan says, over a breath that turns into a groan. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

In other circumstances, the speed with which Dan reaches his climax might be embarrassing. But Phil knows every inch of him, still harbours the residual knowledge that Dan is likely to finish a lot faster if it’s been a while. When Phil lifts his head, wipes his mouth, and sits back on his heels. Dan reaches for him, sits up, and presses himself to Phil’s side.

“What do you want?” Dan asks as Phil’s fingers trace his shoulder. “Anything.”

“I want…” he pauses, and Dan holds his breath. “I want all of you. I want…”

Dan nods in understanding, then stands, shakily from the sofa. He gets what he needs from the bathroom, managing to do so without turning any lights on, and only suffering some minor shin bruising. When he returns, Phil is still sat on the sofa, now staring out of Dan’s living room window, which is floor to ceiling, and displays a rather spectacular view of Canary Wharf, all lit up and twinkling.

It’s one of the few adjustments Dan made to this place - removing the thick, floor length curtains that obscured this view. Might as well look, if it’s there, he’d reasoned. Dan walks up to Phil, presses the bottle of lubricant that he’s retrieved into his hand, and then sits down beside him.

Phil plays with the bottle idly, still staring out of the window. “You can see the whole city,” he says, in a sort of longing voice.

“Mmm,” Dan agrees, following his gaze. They stare in silence for a minute or so, Dan’s hand tangling gently in Phil’s hair. “It’s no sea view, but it’ll do.”

“Do you miss Brighton?”

Phil turns quickly, as if worried the question might not sit well with Dan. But Dan just smiles, a little sadly, and shrugs his shoulders. 

“It wouldn’t be the same now.”

In response, Phil inches closer, and pushes Dan back down along the cushions, this time moving his legs apart, and fitting himself between them. Dan hitches his knees towards his chest, and turns back to the sight of the glittering city. Phil’s fingers are coaxing and careful as they open him up; twice he squeezes out more lube, and still it seems to take forever until Phil is satisfied. He curls his fingers precisely, like his map of Dan’s most intimate places is still burned into his brain, and Dan keens, sobs as he goes. The cityscape blurs into a haze of starry specks over a black, jagged forest. When he looks at Phil, he sees an angel in its nascent form, the first man that ever stepped on Earthly soil, naked and utterly faultless, knelt between Dan’s thighs.

Eventually, after eons have passed of Phil picking at each knot Dan has pulled taut since the day he left Phil on a rainy beach, and unravelling Dan into ribbons of ecstasy, he draws his fingers away, and reaches for the bottle of lube again. Breathing heavily, Dan watches in a delirium born of prolonged bliss, as Phil finds a condom in his own wallet, puts it on, then slicks himself with the lubricant.

Dan’s abdomen muscles contract, and he longs for Phil, with every aching bone in his body, despite him being right there. Phil lines himself up carefully, eyes trained on Dan’s face for any sign he might not be ready. Dan has no idea what is written in his own expression, but he has a strong suspicion it’s pure adoration, as that’s the only thing consuming his mind.

A lance of unexpected pain shoots through Dan from pelvis to throat, as Phil pushes in. Dan cries out, and Phil freezes, ready to cease everything if Dan is not happy.

“No, don’t stop,” Dan says in a jumble. “I’m okay, it’s just… been a while.”

He probably should have thought about that. About how big Phil is, and how, when they were together, Dan had adjusted to accommodate him over time. But there has been little thinking tonight, only impulse, and whim, and Dan would prefer that it stayed that way. So, he nods to Phil assuringly, and wraps his legs around Phil’s waist to urge him on.

It takes an age for Phil to fit himself inside. It hurts too, more than Dan would have guessed, but probably should have expected. Phil is concentrating hard on not just slamming his hips forward; there’s a pearl of sweat at his temple, and his shoulders and neck are misted and damp.

“Fuck, Dan,” Phil says after a minute or so of progress. “You’re so tight. I don’t remember you being this-”

“Like I said, it’s been a while,” Dan manages, breath almost obscuring the words.

Phil meets his eye, pausing. “How long?”

Dan thinks about lying, but he’s probably lied enough to Phil. “Two years, give or take.”

Just then, Phil bottoms out. Dan can feel the bristle of his pubic hair, tickling against his skin. Phil is obviously dumbstruck by the answer Dan gave, and its implication. Dan can almost see the cogs turning in his mind, the decision he makes to tuck the new snippet of knowledge away until later. And then, his hips draw back, and the drag of him sliding out makes Dan’s head tip back, and groan.

Phil was always an excellent, and selfless lover. His effortless physical appeal never made him cocky, or became something he relied on. He was, and is still today, hyper aware of Dan, of how he’s feeling and the sounds he’s making, and what they mean. He’s tuned so intently to Dan’s frequency, that Dan imagines Phil could play him like a piano, carving out a symphony across Dan’s body as he makes each precise movement to procure the right notes.

Sure enough, now, Dan sings for him, near tears with how utterly, excruciatingly glorious it feels to have Phil inside him again. To have Phil so tucked into his body, to wrap his legs around Phil and squeeze. To kiss and stroke and lick and mark him, to fit their bodies together and know that they mesh just as perfectly as they always did.

Phil fucks Dan hard, but with a fluidity Dan remembers marvelling at before. His hips slice through the air, rhythmic and purposeful, never frantic, and always hitting the perfect spot. Dan clings to him, bites at his ear, and Phil hauls him up, until Dan’s gathered in his lap. He smiles, sweetly, amusedly, up at Dan.

“Alright, Rick?”

In his hysteria, Dan laughs. “Yes, Ilsa,” he replies, and grinds down, meeting Phil’s thrusts each time, until Phil’s hand finds his cock, and strokes him over the edge of the cliff he’s been dangling over, sending him plummeting into the roiling, churning, orgasmic ocean beneath.

He doesn’t stop moving, even after the come on their chests begins to cool, and the pleasurable aftershocks of a mindblowing orgasm begin to turn sore, and almost unbearable. He rocks himself down onto Phil, watching in amazement as the various emotions flicker over the older man’s face. He kisses Phil’s lips, each of his eyes, his cheeks, his throat. And soon, Phil is falling too, plunging into the ocean as well, and Dan pulls him under the waves, drags him to the seabed so they can stare up at the filtered, blue light refracting on the surface.  

*

“Please don’t leave,” Dan says. Phil’s chest hair is damp as Dan’s fingers stroke through it, the shower water still clinging on. They’d stumbled under the warm spray together, letting the moisture wash away their sins as they dragged mouths over skin, and held tight to each other’s bodies. “Before I wake up, I mean.”

The change in Phil’s breathing is enough for Dan to know he’d been considering this. So even though it’s humiliating to beg, Dan’s glad he did.

“I won’t,” Phil says, and Dan relaxes into the seductively soft mattress beneath him, and the arm around his shoulders, which he hadn’t realised he’s been missing this much.

“Promise me,” Dan says.

There’s a long silence, but then Phil says, “I promise.”

Dan’s not sure when sleep envelops him after that, only that for the first time in a very long time, she slips him easily under her tongue, and drifts him away for a long, satisfying stretch of dreaming. And for the first night in two years, Dan dreams not of Phil, and storms, and churning seas, but of aeroplanes smoothly gliding atop clouds, and silk sheets on his skin, and a bright, blazing blue.

*

Phil keeps his promise. He is there, at Dan’s side, when the light breaks through the window, and the buzz of Dan’s alarm vibrates against the bedside table. His glasses are back on, and he’s sat up against a pillow, one arm still loosely around Dan as he types out an email on his phone. For a long time, Dan just watches, drinking in this rare moment, when Phil is unaware he’s being observed, and Dan can view him up close, as he hasn’t been able to for years.

Then Dan reaches for his alarm, and Phil turns to him. He wears an expression of concern, and caution and  _oh God_  does Dan just want to kiss it away. Instead, he smiles, hoping it will help to smooth out the frown lines in Phil’s forehead. It does, a little, so Dan sits up and smiles wider.

“Morning,” he says croakily, then clears his throat.

“Morning,” Phil echoes, far quieter.

His arm unwinds itself from around Dan’s back, leaving a cold, ghostly sensation in the vacuum his touch leaves behind. “Coffee?” Dan asks, already extricating himself from the bed so he can pretend Phil isn’t pulling away. “Toast, maybe?”

“Dan, I need to get home,” Phil says, ripping a tear through the flesh of Dan’s abdomen, leaving a gaping, pulsating wound. “I have a thousand things to do. So do you, I expect.”

Dan turns to him, perched on the edge of the mattress. “You promised,” he says.

“I promised I’d stay until you woke up,” Phil reminds him. “And I did.”

“So now you’re just gonna fuck off and leave me? Without even talking about it?”

Phil looks vexed. Dan imagines he’s saying variations of the things Phil has been expecting him to say, and it makes him feel stupid, like he’s a caricature of a person. What a lame, utterly predictable thing he’s done - sleeping with his ex on a tipsy whim after a long period apart. His relationship with Phil deserves better than to be treated so conventionally. It deserves to be embalmed, preserved forever in some museum of almost-perfection, and never touched again. Not this, not dirty fumbles in Dan’s plain double bed, in his empty flat somewhere in the middle of London.

“What’s there to say?”

Dan shakes his head, throat suddenly aching as he attempts to swallow the lump there. “I don’t know. Last night was… it was…” The words aren’t there. It’s impossible to describe the dimension he and Phil slipped into last night, where everything except their bodies was in perfect stasis, trapped in amber, and they alone were moving as one.

“Amazing,” Phil finishes, and even though it’s not the right word, it feels appropriate. “It was stupid, and impulsive, but we knew that, I think.” He reaches out and finds Dan’s hand. “I don’t regret it.”

A tear falls from Dan’s left eye. He stares at the mark it leaves on the sheet draped over his legs. “Okay,” Dan says, because Phil is right. There’s nothing else to say.

*

It takes approximately five seconds after Phil closes the door, leaving Dan alone in his bare, dull apartment, for Dan to realise that he absolutely cannot stomach it. He runs into his bedroom and pulls on the nearest available clothes over the boxers he’s wearing, then spends a minute or so looking for his keys - in the pocket of the trousers Phil pulled off him last night - then shoves on the shoes he had on yesterday, and bolts out of the door. He takes the stairs instead of the elevator, hurtling them two at a time, and bursts into the lobby with such panache that he startles the concierge, who drops his phone in surprise.

By some miracle, Phil is still there, dawdling by the concierge desk, frowning down at his phone. In his puffy jacket and yesterday’s outfit, he looks 29 again, as he was when Dan first knew him. When he sees Dan, Phil lowers his phone, alarmed.

“Dan,” he says, immediately worried. “What’s wrong?”

“You can’t go,” Dan blurts, striding over to him across the tiled floor. As he walks, something hard and unforgiving digs viciously into his foot. The concierge’s eyes follow him with obvious interest. “I can’t lose you again.”

Dan’s words are caked in the gelatinous, adrenaline-spiked terror roiling in his veins, but he can’t seem to hold them in. Phil is staring at him like he’s morphed into a Demigorgon, but even that can’t dissuade Dan from staring him right back.

“We talked about this,” Phil says slowly and, Dan thinks, mildly fearfully. “It was a great night. But I have to go home now, back to my life. You too.”

“Tell me you don’t still love me,” Dan demands, and is then horrified at himself. He tries to force himself to snatch the words back, to spew some apology for them, but his mouth simply won’t listen.

Phil’s lips part in surprise, and the concierge scrambles from his seat with a loud screech of the chair. He bolts into a back room, and Phil and Dan watch him leave, jealously. Then, they are alone in the empty lobby of Dan’s apartment block, with an absurd and unfair demand hanging in the air.

“Dan, I will admit seeing you has stirred up a lot of… feelings,” Phil says, and from the tone of his voice Dan knows he’s trying to be gentle, to let him down with grace and tact. Dan wants to bolt after the concierge, suddenly. “You were the love of my life. I think it would be unusual for that type of thing to fade away without any residual… stuff.”

Dan’s heart beats in a slow, sluggish way, as if it’s anticipating giving out any moment, when Phil delivers the final, devastating blow. 

“The love of your life,” he echoes, knowing he’ll hear that phrase, in his head, on loop forever.

“And when you told me you never slept with Charlie,” Phil continues, swallowing. “It shook me, to tell you the truth. It was like you rebooted my whole opinion of you, and when I started back up again, all that I saw was the boy I loved so much, so quickly.”

“And now?” Dan asks, on the verge of some great emotional breakdown. “What do you see?”

Phil avoids his eyes, lips pressed together. “Nothing’s changed here, Dan. What are you suggesting? That we give it a second whirl? I’d still be gone for days at a time. You’d still be unhappy, and feel like you didn’t fit into my world.”

“No,” Dan says. “It would be different. I’ve been part of your world now, I understand it. I even enjoy it, occasionally. I’ve learned enough to know that even if I don’t like it, even if I can’t stand it sometimes, having you that way is better than not having you at all.”

Phil sighs, heavily. “I think we gave it all we had.” 

“I think we have more to give now.” 

They stare at one another, confused and unsure. Dan has no idea if he means what he’s saying, and is no more sure that Phil will believe it. All he knows is that it’s inconceivable to let Phil walk out of here, walk away from him again, without trying his utmost to prevent it. Not a day has passed where Dan hasn’t wished for him, for a do-over, for a chance to try it again, from the start. And it seems he’s been given that opportunity. To let it slip through his fingers would be blasphemous. 

“Tyler used to tell me,” Dan finds himself saying, because Phil is saying nothing, and it’s torturous. “That it was the weirdest kind of fate. That I used to long for you, and nothing else, and then you came to me, out of the blue. He used to tell me I was completely ridiculous for imagining that wasn’t actual destiny, manifesting itself in a modern-day fairytale.”

Phil’s mouth twitches, but his eyes are sad, like he’s already made up his mind. “What are you saying, Dan? That we should get back together because Tyler thinks we’re a Cinderella story?” 

Dan shakes his head, and suddenly, finally, the right words are there. “No,” he says. “I’m saying that of all the gay bars, in all the world... you walked into mine.” 

Phil’s laugh is shrill, and short. His eyes glisten with tears, and he shakes his head, but Dan doesn’t care if he sounds utterly ridiculous. Because Phil closes the gap between them, and wraps Dan in his big, thick arms. Once more, Dan is neck deep in a warm ocean, and he shuts his eyes, relishing. 

“I missed you,” Phil confesses in a whisper. He sounds like he partly hates himself for admitting it. “I missed you every day.” 

“I missed you too. So much.” 

“Maybe I could stay for that coffee,” Phil says. Then he shifts, angling to press his mouth to Dan’s hair. “I could make pancakes.” 

Dan says nothing, too afraid of jinxing this decision, and simply breaks out of Phil’s embrace, takes his hand, and pulls him towards the lift. As they wait for the metal doors to slide closed, Dan toes off his shoe, and picks it up. Phil regards him warily, as though Dan might try and hit him with it. 

“There’s gum on the bottom of my shoe,” Dan explains, showing Phil. 

Phil takes it in one hand, examining the pink, greying blob that’s sunk into the grooves. “Hmm,” he says, then hurls it through the closing doors, sending it skittering across the lobby floor. Dan gapes, and the doors seal the shoe from them; the lift begins to climb. “First rule,” he says, fingers finding Dan’s as they sweep upwards. “Past grievances are thrown out.” 

Dan stares. “Does this mean-”

“I think,” Phil says, interrupting. He’s squeezing Dan’s hand, rather hard. “We were pretty good. I mean, the fans definitely agree. They’re usually pretty smart about this stuff.”

“So, what you’re saying-”

“One more try,” Phil says. The lift pings, and the doors slide open to reveal Dan’s hallway. “I can do one more try.” 


End file.
